


Gold Rush

by Soulsister12345



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Evermore - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Folklore, Forbidden Love, Hermione granger has anxiety, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Multi, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Star-crossed, dramione - Freeform, idk how to write smut so we'll see, inspired by evermore album by Miss Taylor Swift, maybe a little Theo x Hermione we shall see, star crossed love, taylorswift inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulsister12345/pseuds/Soulsister12345
Summary: Draco Malfoy x Hermione GrangerA fateful night on the astronomy tower to see a once-a-millennium constellation has disastrous consequences. Ancient magic is a meddlesome, unpredictable creature, and even the strongest of resentments must yield to it’s order.Caught in a compromising position after curfew guaranteed Hermione and Draco Malfoy strict punishment. Being sentenced to forage in the Forbidden Forest for magical plants was not anticipated to be that strict punishment.Even less anticipated were the shocking discoveries made in that forest, and the new feelings that emerge.Set in 5th year, continues into 6th(Also posted on Wattpad)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 42
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic! Please be gentle with me but constructive criticism is welcome. I'll be taking inspiration from many of Taylor Swift's songs, primarily from Folklore and Evermore. Feel free to comment other songs/albums to listen to, I'm not exclusively incorporating themes from Miss.Swifts songs. The timeline and details from the books won't be 100% accurate because I'd like to make my plot lines centerstage. With that being said, all rights go to J.K. Rowling for the Harry Potter world and it's characters (fuck J.K Rowling though). 
> 
> Head over to Wattpad if you want to see the Gold Rush mood boards (same username on there). 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Song for this chapter: Mess Around- Cage the Elephant

The tension in Professor McGonagall's office was as thick as Hermione's hair on a rainy day. Her hands nervously fiddled with the loose leather of her armchair.

"I am extremely disappointed in both of your behavior." Professor McGonagall looked down on them from her seat behind the antique wooden desk covered in loose parchments and quills.

Hermione ducked her head down in shame. Something in Professor McGonagall's stare reminded her of her mothers reprimanding glare..

"Well get on with it then, it's nearly morning. What are you going to do about it." Malfoy sneered from the armchair beside Hermione's.

Her head swiveled up in shock. Did he somehow forget he was talking to a professor?

"Thank you for asking Mr.Malfoy. I will be stripping the both of you of your prefect badges and giving you two months of detention." Professor McGonagall folded her hands in front of her.

"What? That's ridiculous!" Hermione and Malfoy chorused together in indignant alarm. Hermione turned towards him, she was met with an ugly glare.

Malfoy turned back to Professor McGonagall, "My father would never let that happen."

Professor McGonagall calmly replied, "If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would worry more about how your father will react to the... situation I walked in on thirty minutes ago than the punishment you may receive for them. Considering what it usually means when a young witch and wizard are found together past curfew."

Malfoys face paled, making the scarlet bruise forming on his jaw ever more prominent. Hermione turned her gaze back to her feet, one in a slipper and the other bare.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the chapter: Mystery of Love- Sufjan Stevens

An hour prior:

The moon shined through the window beside her bed and poured onto the ancient, worn pages of the book. Her most recent withdrawal from the library, The Wanderers Guide to the Sky, was surprisingly popular considering it was published a thousand years ago. She attempted to sign it out last month only to find that it was missing.

The soft snores of her dormmates muffled the sounds of her page-turning. She gasped, the heading of the next chapter read, Hermione. She read the entire section thrice.

'One of nature's most rare and spectacular mysteries, The Hermione constellation. Like it's ancient Greek namesake, little is known of it. Here is what we do know:

Hermione, daughter of King Menelaus of Sparta and Helen of Troy ran away with her lover Orestes during the Trojan way. Near the end of the war, Hermione's father located her and forced her back to Sparta on the condition that he would not kill her love, Orestes, in exchange for her obedience.

As a child, Hermione was unpromising and resembled the frigid features of Menelaus instead of the most beautiful woman in the world, her mother, Helen of Troy. However, upon her return to Sparta, her beauty surpassed even that of her mothers. King Menelaus capitalized on this development and bargained her hand in marriage to the cruel son of Achilles in exchange for his father's aid on the battlefield.

Years of marriage with the son of Achilles passed, and Hermione failed to produce an heir. It should be noted that despite popular accusations of the time, it was most likely her husband at fault for their infertility. None of his numerous concubines were able to produce heirs either.

Hermione discovered evidence of her husband plotting to murder her. She ran away the next night. As the story goes, she wandered the Earth for seven years, looking for her lost love, Orestes.'

Hermione huffed in aggravation, blowing bronze curls out of her face. The next paragraph was cut off, she would have to do additional research to find out the end of the myth. She turned to the next page.

'The Hermione constellation has only been reported to appear four times throughout history. If my calculations are correct, the constellation appears in intervals of a thousand years. Reported sightings include the years: 2995 B.C.E, 1995 B.C.E, 905 B.C.E, 95 C.E. The next predicted year and day is September 6th, 1995."

Her jaw dropped. She cast a quick Tempus, the glowing number appeared in the air: 1:43 AM. The book said only one in thirty to forty generations would witness the Hermione Constellation. She even shared a name with it. She had to see it.

It was too late to ask Harry for his invisibility cloak and map, she would have to sneak around the school without them.

Hermione slid her feet into her warm slippers. She pulled her bathrobe over her flannel pajamas and crept across the floor with a soft Lumos cast from her wand. She snuck out of the Gryffindor tower and set her path for the Astronomy tower.

Adventures with Ron and Harry had ensured that Hermione was well versed in creeping through the castle past curfew. She knew exactly where to hide, which route Filch patrolled, and what hiding spots couples would be occupying to snog in.

Portraits on the walls glared at her for disturbing their sleep. Despite their annoyance, none of them made a noise to alert Filch. When Hermione first arrived at Hogwarts, she spent many lonely hours talking to the paintings about whatever book she had been reading that day. Many of them had grown fond of her passionate rambles.

She turned a corner into a darkly lit hall, two windows illuminated it at either end of the wall. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at what she thought was the silhouette of a person but turned out to be a marble statue. It reminded her of the Ancient Greek myth she read minutes prior.

It seemed some people thought love was waging an Earth shattering war for ownership of a heart and body that fled seas to be free of them. Others thought it was leaving behind a daughter to elope with a stranger. And a few thought it was giving up your life for someone, and then wandering the Earth for seven years in the blind hope that you will one day be reunited.

Hermione was wondering if she might hope for a less tragic and evil love when she heard the graceless, heavy footsteps of Filch rounding the corner. She ducked behind a tapestry and into a window seat, praying she didn't crash into a pair of students engaging in indecent acts.

Hermione slowed her breathing and sat down on the window seat as quietly as possible. She dragged her feet off the floor and into her chest so they couldn't be seen beneath the tapestry.

Flich must've heard someone else nearby, he was off his usual route. She prayed he would leave soon so she wouldn't miss the Hermione constellation.

His footsteps paused near her hiding spot, she could hear his heavy breath and gruff muttering.

She absent-mindedly wrapped the tie to her bathrobe around her finger. Her spine was taught with anticipation.

Squeak!

The rubber soles of his shoes sounded as he pivoted on his heels and turned back the way he came.

Once she could no longer hear his footsteps, she raced down the hall and arrived at the door to the astronomy tower. She sprinted up the stairs, not willing to risk another encounter with Filch.

Out of breath, she swept a strand of curls out of her face, only for the wind to push them back. She took a few cautious steps away from the entrance and wandered farther across the balcony.

The night sky was breathtaking. It was as if someone had poured purple, blue, and black paint onto a canvas, swirled them together, then placed little pearls across it.

Underneath the Draco constellation, she spied Hermione. While Draco was supposed to indicate a dragon's form, the constellation of Hermione depicted the silhouette of a woman when traced. 

Hermione laid down on the cold stone floor and tilted her head up to watch the sky. The wind was fierce but not as cold as she had expected. She was grateful for such a beautiful, warm evening, especially since the autumn chill was beginning to take over.

Minutes passed, and previous insomnia that plagued her body and caused her to open The Wanderers Guide to the Night Sky, disappeared. The warm breeze against her skin transformed into her mother's slender fingers brushing through her hair. The hard stone beneath her back turned into a mattress fit for a queen. And the twinkling moon became her childhood nightlight.

Her eyes fluttered shut and fell asleep in the astronomy tower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Death with Dignity - Sufjan Stevens

The slight shuffle of a shoe. The ticklish sensation of her hair being dragged across her face. A faint, masculine gasp whispered into the night.

Her sleepy brain told her this was not normal, none of her dormmates sounded like that and no one besides her mother would do something as intimate as moving her hair while she slept.

But she was too comfortable, whichever soft blanket she had grabbed before bed was warm and tightly wrapped around her. The room was so quiet tonight, she couldn't even hear Ginny snore.

She turned her head, only for it to land on what she guessed was a dress shoe adorned foot.

She opened her eyes with a start. Draco Malfoy peered down at her, his foot next to her head.

Alarm fitted across his sharp features when he noticed she was awake. It must've been instinctual after years of animosity because her gut-reaction was the punch him in the face. She leaped off of the floor and hit him right on the jaw.

Later, she would feel embarrassed for reacting like that. But it was terrifying to wake up to someone's face hovering over you, especially if that person hated you and actively worked to make your life Hell.

His face flew back with the force of her punch. One of his hands reached up to cradle his jaw. A ring with a silver 'M' adorned by his index finger pressed into the skin of his chin.

"WHAT THE FUCK GRANGER!" He roared in anger. The spot she hit was already turning pink.

"What do you expect the response will be when you hover over a stranger in their sleep like a stalker!" She spluttered taking quick steps backward.

"I didn't know who you were!" He said, eyes blazing.

"Do you make a habit of touching the hair of people you don't know?" She snapped.

"I was trying to see what idiot would fall asleep in the astronomy tower!"

"It was an accident! Besides, it's none of your business." She replied, trying to smooth down her bed head as casually as she could.

"Leave right now, I'm taking twenty points from Gryffindor." He said, glaring at her as if she were an insect beneath his shoe.

"You're not taking house points for this," Hermione replied confidently. She would not be penalized by the likes of him.

"I don't take orders from a Mudblood." He took a threatening step forward, but Hermione would not be deterred.

"As a prefect, I am allowed to be out past curfew."

"Only when you are patrolling you aren't even on the schedule. And you're wearing bedclothes. Nice try," Malfoy replied, taking another step closer. His eyes scanned her "bedclothes", she pulled her robe tighter.

Why did Purebloods call pajamas, "bedclothes"? Seriously, he degrades her blood status when he talks like a Jane Austin novel.

"I was looking for something another student from my house left. I'm sure our professors can understand a prefect using their power for necessary reasons." Lies spewed from Hermione's lips like a broken faucet. She hated Draco Malfoy, he brought out the worst in her. Hermione was an honest person and would never abuse her power like this, but something about wiping that self-satisfied smirk off his face was worth it.

"So you're a Narcoleptic in addition to being unbearable? You know, you might be eligible for some kind of Ministry stimulus check with all of those hindering qualities." He supplied sarcastically. Her face burned in anger and embarrassment.

"I might qualify for Ministry protection after I tell them I woke up to your terrifying face hovering above me." She snapped back. His amused expression shifted immediately into something frightening. He paced forward, she matched each step he took with one in the opposite direction.

She'd never been alone with him before and she didn't like how angry he looked. Maybe she should have thought about her current circumstances before she purposefully antagonized him. 

"You stupid, little, Mudblood," he ground out through clenched teeth. She felt around for her wand in her robe pocket only to see it lying on the floor where she fell asleep.

Shit.

He marched forward, and she paced backward. She couldn't see over his chest which was inches away from her face. He'd grown almost as tall as Ron. She tripped over something hard, gasping. He used this momentum to push her into the railing. She gasped at the feeling of his hands, his hands on her arms.

Hermione felt the unforgiving, cold metal railing digging into the small of her back. One of her slippers had fallen off in their scuffle. She slowly turned her head to the side and looked down; the drop was thousands of feet tall.

Her breathing halted. He wouldn't push her over, would he? She was well aware that Malfoy hated her. But surely he didn't want to ruin his life by murdering her? On second thought, she doubted someone as rich and privileged as him would go to Azkaban for murdering a 'filthy Mudblood'.

Hermione spent her summer evenings watching true crime TV shows with her father. She remembered a segment detailing what to do if you are kidnapped by a sociopath. First, she had to try and empathize with him.

She could feel his angry exhales against her forehead. "Malfoy, you don't want to do this. I know you probably feel really frustrated right now but if you just let me go, you won't ever see me again. I won't bother you ever again, I promise."

He didn't like this.

"I'm sick and tired of you and your idiot friends trying to take over this school. You think that just because you're Potter's Mudblood you get to do whatever you want! I can't believe you punched me. Someone should've put you in your place years ago." His hand slid up her wrist and onto the base of her throat, she sucked in a breath. Her eyes darted to his face, his eyebrows were drawn together and his nostrils were flared. The pressure of his hand was light, but the threat was heavy.

It was time to move onto step two, remind him of the consequences of his actions.

"Malfoy, you can't kill me. You'll go to Azkaban. All you will be known for is murder, you wouldn't do that to your family." She tried to morph her face into something that said she was sympathetic to him but also in charge of the situation.

His grip on her throat tightened, she was not in charge of the situation. The metal of his rings was warmed by both of their body heat. She was overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body pushing against her's.

"Maybe they'll think you threw yourself over. That you couldn't stand another minute as your miserable, narcoleptic self."

"You don't want murder on your conscience." She reasoned. The wind had chapped her lips, she wet them with her tongue. His eyes darted toward her mouth. "And I'm not Narcoleptic, I was just tired. Stop saying that, Narcolepsy isn't a joke Malfoy. It's a serious problem hundreds of thousands suffer from..."

"So even when I have you in this position, you can't shut your fucking mouth to save your life?" He flexed his hand on her throat. His other fingers were splayed across her waist, firmly pressing her into the railing.

She gulped.

"And how would you know what I want on my conscience?" He sneered. The moonlight reflected off of his pale hair. His silver eyes traced across her face.

She didn't have an answer to that. He suddenly nudged her closer over the edge of the railing and her shock subsided. Hermione grasped his robes, exhaling shakily. The fact that she was inches away from falling to her death was getting harder to ignore.

She felt the first signs of a panic attack, her breathing became inconsistent and her hands shook. Black spots appeared where his face had been.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You are holding me by my throat over a thousand-foot drop." She gasped out.

"Merlin! I wouldn't actually throw you over. Potter and Weasley aren't even here to save you, you don't need to put on a show for me. Quit the dramatics."

"You think I'm being dramatic? Let's see you dangle over the edge of this railing then!"

"No wonder you turned out the way you did. Muggle parents have no idea how to discipline children. They just let the lot of you run around with no guidance or direction." He sneered, teeth glinting white against the dark lighting.

"You mean to tell me..." She gasped out, trying to control her panic, "that your parents held you over a thousand foot drops..." Hermione pushed her hands against his chest, "IN THE NAME OF DISCIPLINE."

"Of course that must be very strange and foreign to you, corporal punishment, seeing as you turned out the way you did."

"Well out of the two of us, the one that is called the Brightest With of Our Age is the one who didn't receive physical punishment. Now let me down if you aren't going to kill me." Her eyes start watering from her inconsistent breathing. Hermione didn't want to show weakness so she had to press her forehead to his chest to hide her teary eyes.

Suddenly, Malfoy jerked her shoulders against the railing, startling her. "No, I quite like seeing you knocked down a peg or two."

Hermione had had enough. He was cruel and sadistic, she wanted to go back to bed and never speak to him again. This was one of the worst experiences she'd ever had at Hogwarts and she was petrified in year two.

Abruptly, she jerked her head towards his chin, catching him off guard. She shoved at his shoulders and kicked at his legs. Malfoy pushed back at her.

"What is going on here!" Professor McGonagall shouted from the doorway of the Astronomy tower.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Kill Of The Night - Gin Wigmore

Present Time:

Professor McGonagall calmly replied, "If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would worry more about how your father will react to the... situation I walked in on thirty minutes ago than the punishment you will receive for them. Considering what it usually means when a young witch and wizard are found together past curfew."

Malfoys face paled, making the scarlet bruise forming on his jaw becoming ever more prominent. Hermione turned her gaze back to her feet, the Persian rug was rough against her barefoot.

Hermione lost her right foot slipper after tripping a hard surface in the Astronomy tower. When McGonagall appeared in front of them with a bright Lumos cast, Hermione saw that the hard surface was a book titled Stars, the Sky, and the Moon. Draco went to the tower after curfew for the same reason she went and he lied about being on patrol.

This information she stumbled upon was interesting, to say the least. She felt the heat of two glares directed at her and tucked this thought into the back of her mind for later.

"I would never be sneaking out after curfew to snog a Mud-Muggleborn, Professor. You can't just-" Malfoy tried to say before Professor McGonagall cut him off. She looked down to see a slight tremor in the hand he combed through his hair.

Hermione was stunned. Professor McGonagall knew they hated each other, even the Ghosts of Hogwarts knew. Was the head of Gryffindor trying to blackmail Malfoy? She would be amused if this turn of events wasn't so surprising.

"I can do whatever I please Mr.Malfoy. It does not matter what I think you both were up to. Given your...history with Ms.Granger, do you think your father will believe you?" Professor McGonagall gave Malfoy a meaningful look. Hermione turned to him in confusion, he scowled at the ground. A pink flush began to creep up his neck, matching the bruise forming on his jaw.

History with her? What were they talking about? Lucius Malfoy knew Draco hated her, why would he believe they were snogging?

"Professor McGonagall, please, you must know Malfoy and I wouldn't touch each other with a ten-foot pole. It was merely a coincidence we were there at the same time." Hermione tried to reason, flustered that her old Professor was implying a romantic link between her and him.

"It is truly astounding to me that while you both are the brightest students in the entire school, and still neither of you can see the issue in your actions. I walked into the Astronomy tower after being alerted by concerned portraits, only to find you, Mr.Malfoy, pushing Ms.Granger over the edge!" Professor McGonagall huffed.

"Now, Ms.Granger's fighting back seemed justified considering the circumstance, except for the fact that he already had a bruise forming on his jaw. Now is it fair to assume this bruise was dealt by your hand, Ms.Granger?"

Hermione couldn't meet her eyes as she uttered a soft, "Yes."

"Not to mention, both of you were out hours after curfew! This behavior is appalling from any student, let alone two trusted prefects!"

Hermione felt her guilt eating her alive, she hated letting Professor McGonagall think so lowly of her. She looked over to see Malfoy slouching in his chair, glaring at a point on the wall next to him. He seemed more concerned with the fact that he got caught and was facing reprecussions than the fact that the professor was disappointed in him.

"Professor, is there anything I could do to keep my prefect badge and show you that I am responsible enough to handle it?" Hermione pleaded, hands loosely clasped in front of her.

Professor McGonagall sighed heavily, took her spectacles off, and looked at both of them meaningfully. Hermione heard Draco adjust in his seat.

"Well, I suppose there is something." She spoke.

Silence.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat.

After thirty more seconds of silence, Draco said, "Were you going to tell us what we could do or..." he trailed off, eyebrows raised in annoyance. When he caught Hermione looking at him in shock he jerked his head at her with an angry expression, startling her.

Jerk.

"Despite being the only candidates for this task, I'm not sure even you two have what it takes." Professor McGonagall challenged.

Prepostorous. Hermione was the most academically capable witch in the school. Malfoy was a prat but he was second behind her in grades, surely he wasn't useless.

"I will do whatever is necessary to show you I am responsible," Hermione said solemnly.

Malfoy scoffed next to her and crossed his legs over each other.

"This task requires both of you to work together. Based on the reason we are gathered in my office at nearly three in the morning, I am not confident this will be possible". Professor McGonagall replied smoothly.

"No, I promise we can work together. Whatever it takes, right Malfoy?" Hermione turned to him, warning him with her eyes.

He turned to her slowly, a fake smile on his face.

"We can make it work". He gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Excellent. Due to funding changes, the potions department and Infirmary now need to locally source its magical plants. The ministry has been made aware that many of the expensive ingredients necessary for potions can be found in the Forbidden Forest."

Malfoy's head swiveled towards Professor McGonagall, he leaned forward.

"You mean to tell me that you plan on sending us out to frolic through the Forbidden Forest! What, did Care for Magical Creatures funding get cut too and so now you have to locally source the meat you feed those beasts? I'm sure my father would sooner donate more money than have his only son become a human sacrifice."

"Do not forget that you are on thin ice, Mr.Malfoy." Hermione froze, even though the warning wasn't directed at her.

"You are both lucky to receive this option. You would do well to remember that." She said.

Draco seethed, sinking back into his leather chair.

"As the most skilled and knowledgeable in the entire school, Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey only trust the two of you to procure the correct plants correctly. You will work as a team to collect the plants or you won't pursue this option at all. It is far too dangerous for a student to go into the forest alone."

Draco opened his mouth, but Professor McGonagall spoke over him.

"You begin tomorrow. Meet me in my office immediately after classes". Professor McGonagall then shooed them out of the room and told them to go straight back to bed.

Hermione started towards the Gryffindor tower. She couldn't resist the temptation to look over her shoulder. She was met with Draco Malfoy's promising silver glare, he would not make this easy for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks
> 
> This song is iconic. In the Crown, season 4, when Princess Diana drives around to this song, I got chills. I know I haven't used any Folklore or Evermore songs yet...oops. I'm going to use them when they fit the chapter, don't worry (these author notes are funny to me because I accidentally skip over them when I read so I know people aren't reading these but I still want to say things).

The next morning, Hermione slouched over her third cup of coffee. Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep and her head felt heavy upon her shoulders. Red bruises formed overnight on her spine where Malfoy slammed her into the railing.

"Hermione, what were you up to last night?" Ginny asked with a suggestive eyebrow raise and a conspiratorial grin as she sat down next to her.

"Nothing like what you are trying to imply," Hermione mumbled, cutting her eggs benedict with machine-like precision. Harry paused in his Quidditch conversation with Ron and looked at her.

"Alright, Hermione?" He asked, readjusting his circular glasses. His emerald eyes scanned across her face, pausing on the circles under her eyes.

"C'mon Ginny you know she was just studying for O.W.L.S. Hermione would never." Ron muttered absentmindedly through mouthfuls of toast. Her jaw clenched.

Hermione hadn't had the chance to tell any of them the "arrangement" she and Malfoy had been forced into last night. Harry had a new sort of anger he carried with him since Cedric Diggory's death, an irrational type that Ron tended to enable. She worried that he might do something impulsive.

She planned to tell them eventually, but she wanted to make sure Harry and Ron wouldn't storm up to McGonagall's office and ruin her only shot at maintaining her prefect badge. Or worse, punch Malfoy and then get expelled.

That being said, Ron's passive-aggressive dig tempted Hermione into exposing her late-night extravaganza.

"And what do you mean by 'she would never?'" Ginny said, eyes narrowing. Ron's face heated and his fist clenched around his fork.

"Just that she's not that kind of girl." He mumbled.

Since the Yule ball last year, Hermione realized Ron put her in a metaphorical box. Inside this box were books, school, rules. There was no room left for anything stereotypically feminine or sexual. When her behavior no longer fit "the box", he became angry and confused.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

"Not that kind of girl!" Ginny exclaimed in indignation. Hermione was too tired to reprimand Ron, this type of conflict had become quite frequent since her brief relationship with Viktor last year.

"So are you just going to repeat everything I say now? Or am I allowed to finish my breakfast?" Ron snapped. Harry cringed in his seat next to him. At least one of them had the common sense to know one just does not get away with talking to Ginny Weasley like that, let alone her own brother.

Ginny's freckled face held a fierce glare, Ron paled.

"You'll be pleased to know then, that Hermione was out past curfew last night for hours," Ginny said smugly, dragging out the final word.

Hermione sucked in a breath. Ginny must have woken up when she stumbled back to bed. Harry looked at her in shock. Ron's eyes widened.

"What the hell 'Mione! What were you doing?" Ron said angrily.

"Funny Ginny should bring this up right now, I was just getting ready to tell you all about it!" Hermione tried to force a chuckle, waving her butter knife around in a nonchalant gesture. They looked unconvinced. She described the previous night's events in a carefully edited fashion. She summarized their physical fight with a simple: "We started arguing very loudly and it woke some of the portraits up".

This was to prevent an outburst from the other ⅔'s of the trio.

She did not tell them about the Astronomy book Malfoy brought with him. Or how his nimble fingers had danced through her hair while she was still in the shallow depths of sleep.

And she most certainly did not tell them about the way his electric, ocean colored eyes dropped to her lips more than once.

Hermione then explained the task Professor McGonagall gave them.

"That's ridiculous. I'm talking to Dumbledore right away." Harry said resolutely, preparing to jump out of the bench.

Hermione grabbed his wrist, "This is why I waited to tell you. I don't want you to do anything about this. It's the only way to keep my prefect badge."

Ron eyed her hand on Harry's wrist. "Harry, c'mon, don't make this harder on her. We can keep an eye on Malfoy and make sure he doesn't do anything."

She was lucky to have friends that protected her so fiercely despite how overbearing it could be.

She gave them a weak smile and turned back to her breakfast. Just before she looked down, her gaze locked onto pale blonde hair and silver eyes at the Slytherin table.

He had already been staring at her when she looked at him. His passive gaze morphed into a vicious glare and his pink lips mouthed 'Mudblood'.

Ginny walked Hermione to her Transfiguration class. She apologized profusely for snitching on Hermione. She had just wanted to put Ron in his place.

Hermione loved Ginny, she was a fiercely loyal friend. Sometimes it felt like she might be one of the only people in the world that understood the intense rage she occasionally felt.

A rage that festered and bubbled up in her chest when she raised her hand in class, only to hear a snickering group of boys behind her saying, "The Mudblood needs to be put in her place".

When she was younger, she assumed every other girl in her dorm could relate to this feeling. She assumed that when she talked of the dismissive way Harry and Ron regarded her presence, Lavender and Parvarti would share her annoyance. When she told them of how the boys acted like she was a walking library, property only capable of intellectual intelligence and useless with anything else, they would sigh in sympathy.

She was disappointed when they told her that she needed to lighten up, that was just how boys act.

It was then that Hermione realized sometimes it was easier to accept a blow than try to catch the hand dealing it.

When she became friends with Ginny Weasley, it was like a breath of fresh air.

Ginny, who grabbed the neck of her six-foot-tall brothers' shirts, and threw them out of her way like it was nothing.

Ginny, who when told she came off too intimidating to find a boyfriend, laughed.

And Ginny, when told by Ron that she wasn't allowed to have a crush on his friend Harry Potter, stomped on his favorite Quidditch magazine.

Hermione would forgive Ginny for just about anything.

She spotted pale golden hair entering the class. "Ginny, it's alright. I know you didn't mean anything by it. Honest. See you for lunch!" She waved her off, following behind him.

Throughout the class, Hermione avoided Harry and Ron's questioning glares. She may have 'forgotten' to mention the purple and red bruise blossoming on Malfoys jaw.

She kept her head strictly pointing to the front of the classroom.

"Hermione!" Ron kept whispering, trying to get her to explain.

"Hermione, did you do that?" He nudged her.

"Mr.Weasley and Ms.Granger, if you are done, I would love to continue teaching the class." Professor McGonagall stared pointedly at them. Snickering came from the Slytherin's side of the room.

Ron's face flushed, Hermione felt her cheeks heating, "Sorry Professor McGonagall." They both said.

The day passed too quickly for Hermione's liking. Harry had tried to walk her to Professor McGonagall's office after potions but she shooed him away. The last thing Hermione wanted was for a fight to break out in front of her office.

Despite coming from the same class, Hermione did not walk with Malfoy. She made sure she left the classroom before him.

For all of the effort she put into avoiding him, Hermione somehow managed to make the tension worse. She could hear the sharp clicking of his expensive shoes on the stairs behind her. She began to hyper-fixate on her walk, feeling the force of his stare on her body.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Professor McGonagall's tall, curved, wooden door.

As soon as she raised her fist to knock, Professor McGonagall opened the door.

"Quickly then, come in, come in. We don't have all day." Professor McGonagall said. Even in the comfort of her own office, she wore a black witch hat and emerald robes pinned by a jeweled brooch.

Everything Professor McGonagall did these days seemed to be in a rush.

They both sat down in the same leather armchairs from hours earlier.

"Put these on." Professor McGonagall hastily handed them each an amulet of a shrinking potion bottle. Inside the glass vial was an onyx black potion dotted with white specks. It reminded Hermione of stars in the night sky.

Malfoy reluctantly shrugged the necklace on. "What is it and what is it for?" Hermione questioned.

"It's a potion devised to repel those that wish you harm in the forest. The glass has been charmed to be unbreakable but also charmed to allow any nearby predators to smell it. Rest assured Mr.Malfoy, you will not be reduced to a human sacrifice." She said with a sarcastic ending. Malfoy gave her a saccharine-sweet smile in response.

While she sorted through the piles of parchment on her desk, woven baskets with wooden covers floated to each armchair. They reminded Hermione of the picnic basket her mother used for summer outings.

"Ha! Here it is." Professor McGonagall exclaimed to herself. She handed Hermione what looked like a list of potions ingredients.

40 Valerian

20 Speckled Robin Red Mushrooms

30 Pungous Onion

48 Gurdyroot

"Unfortunately due to a lack of exploration in the forest," Malfoy scoffed at this, "I can only offer you a tentative map of where various plants may be located". Professor McGonagall finished, shoving a piece of parchment at Malfoy.

"Don't worry Professor, I'm confident we will be able to find them," Hermione said, scanning the list and recognizing the names from her reading.

"Alright, go change into outdoor clothes and then get to it." She huffed, shooing them out the door just as she earlier that day.

"So, meet by Hagrid's hut in fifteen?" Hermione said, clutching the list in one hand and the basket in the other. Malfoy stormed off without saying anything in response.

"Alright, see you then ferret!" She called after him sarcastically. Suddenly, he turned around and started marching back towards her.

"Filthy, little Mud-" She started jogging towards the Gryffindor common room before he could finish. The ends of her lips curling in a self-satisfied smile.

Hermione leaned against the side of Hagrid's hut. She missed him terribly. He was a kindred spirit, always willing to indulge her passionate curiosity in magical creatures. She hoped wherever he was, he was enjoying himself.

Her shiny, forest green rubber rain boots sunk into the mud. She wore a black windbreaker, a grey jumper that belonged to Harry, and jeans to combat the cool breeze. Due to a lack of sunlight filtering through the trees, the forest was much colder than the Hogwarts grounds.

She fiddled with the amulet Professor McGonagall gave her. Malfoy was ten minutes late. During this time she had french braided her hair, drew circles in the mud with her foot, and stared at the uninviting forest entrance.

He appeared at the top of the hill leading down to Hagrid's hut. He wore a black cloak and a black jumper underneath. His feet were covered in expensive-looking dragon leather boots. His usually pale face was covered in a light flush, not the type brought on by a pretty girl but instead by the kiss of the wind. As he drew closer she could see that the breeze caused his eyes to water, the blue-gray color standing out more than usual because of it. The bruise on his sharp jaw shined against his pale skin.

She wondered how much it hurt.

She could admit that he was objectively beautiful and not think he was a good person. Hermione would rather kiss Voldemort than tell Malfoy she thought his eyes reminded her of A Starry Night, by Vincent Van Gogh, or that his hair looked like it was spun by Rumpelstiltskin.

"Let's just get this over with." He muttered, charging past her and straight into the looming forest. She reluctantly followed behind.

Apparently, she was walking too slowly for him because he turned around, grabbed her arm, and dragged her behind him. She tried to yank her arm away only for his grip to tighten.

"What's wrong Malfoy? Too scared to walk on your own?"

"I'm only worried some beast is going to mistake that monster you call hair for a bird's nest. I don't really fancy fighting off a giant Hippogriff this afternoon." He said, marching them forward through the lush foliage.

"You would be afraid of a Hippogriff, wouldn't you? Bad blood there if I remember third year correctly?" She snarked back at him, looking pointedly at the arm she guessed he "broke". Hermione paid the price for this comment when she tripped over a tree root and he had to yank her back up.

She snatched the map sticking out of his basket. "Alright, that's far enough. We need to know where to look for this." She traced a finger over where she estimated their location to be, "We should head west to collect the Valerian, it says there should be a patch over that way." She pointed to the left.

She led them through the trees. The gnarled, twisting branches and gray mist had once made her spine prickle in apprehension. But today, the sound of heavy boots trampling leafs and twigs behind her chased away any previous fears.

In the distance, she spotted the pearly white blossoms of the Valerian plant.

"Look there, Malfoy!" She d pointed. They each took set to work pulling Valerians from the soil. She instructed him to make sure to get all of the roots to which he sneered and said he wasn't an idiot.

It wasn't until after they'd finished collecting that she'd realized he'd dumped all of his roots into her basket, meaning she would have to carry all forty of them. He smirked down at her after she'd noticed.

They located the Pungous Onions and Gurdyroot quickly. Malfoy correctly predicted which environments the magical plants would favor within the forest.

Almost an hour passed. Her arms ached from carrying the heavy plants. She couldn't cast a shrinking charm since the plants were extremely sensitive to magic. The last thing she wanted to do was alter the healing properties of the Gurdyroot, and then have to come back an extra day to make up for it.

Malfoy was getting more irritated than he usually was. His stony, unpleasant demeanor worsened with impatience. She hadn't thought he could manage a worse disposition than his usual one, but she was proven wrong when he began to mumble swear words under his breath.

"Can you stop fucking stomping?" He finally snapped.

"I'm walking at a normal rate!"

"Well, then why do I feel like your feet are screaming?"

"My only guess would be brain damage due to your family's years of inbreeding." She snapped back without a second thought. He purposefully shoved his shoulder against hers.

It was strange, having to be alone with Malfoy outside of school. Without an audience, he lost a lot of the bravo that he usually swaggered about with. She almost didn't recognize him as the boy that bullied her for years.

Suddenly, Hermione spied a cluster of red and white speckled mushrooms under a willow tree, "Malfoy, look!" Hermione nudged his arm and pointed. He turned his head in the direction of the mushrooms. The faintest resemblance of a smile crept across his features, she smiled back at him on reflex, cheeks reddening. A wolf howled in the distance, breaking the spell. Both stumbled away from each other, looking pointedly to the ground as they hurried to collect the mushrooms.

Her foraging partner was neither Harry nor Ron; she was acting with an uncomfortable level of familiarity with Malfoy. This was the boy who introduced her to the word 'Mudblood'. One that believed in blood superiority.

How could she forget that?

She cast a spell to show the way back to Hogwarts. They trudged through the mud and thick fog silently. Her arms were weighed down by her overstuffed basket.

The walk back to Hagrid's hut took nearly an hour. She had no idea they'd wandered so far into the forest.

As soon as they emerged from the trees, Malfoy set off at a faster pace. He didn't want to be caught next to the Mudblood, even if it was for an assigned task, Hermione thought. She walked slowly to the Gryffindor common room, legs sore and feet blistered.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of crimson sofas and a warm fireplace. She checked the time with a quick tempus, she still had a few hours before dinner. As she sunk into the plush cushions, she was embarrassed to admit she wanted to skip dinner and fall asleep right now, at nearly five-thirty in the evening. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd exercised that much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Love My Way - The Psychedelic Furs
> 
> I KNOW I keep using Call Me By Your Name songs. I can't think of anything that works better, my apologies. To me, the ones I've used represent a curiosity towards someone, like the initial interest. Before someone even realizes their feelings, the stage where they are purely interested in discovery and have little intention towards what they find.

Hermione woke to the smell of fried chicken, biscuits, and gravy. Before her groggy eyes fully focused, she felt the weight of an arm around her shoulders and the heat of the fireplace wafting towards her curled up form.

Ron was seated next to her, Harry on the armchair to her left. A plate of food was set out on the coffee table in front of her and a blanket was thrown over her shoulders.

Ron had a Quidditch magazine propped open on his knee, turning the page with one pale, freckled hand.

Harry was staring at the fire. The flames danced in orange blobs on the reflection of his glasses

"What's all this?" Hermione mumbled, still feeling the aftereffects of a nap.

"We brought you dinner. You were dead asleep when all came down so we decided to let you rest." Ron said and gave her a sweet smile.

Her stomach grumbled in response.

"Thank you". If these were reparations for his tactlessness at breakfast, she would accept.

He reached over and handed her the plate. She washed away her dry mouth with a gold goblet filled with water.

Light chatter filled the common room, a couple of third years sat huddled in a corner. The Weasley twins were seated on another sofa, surrounded by a small crowd. A couple of students were seated at the tables, scribbling furiously on stacks of late homework.

Hermione was months ahead on her homework. That was no excuse to slack off on her O.W.Ls studying, but in light of recent events, even she could justify taking a break.

As she ate her dinner, Hermione noticed a small pile of papers on the coffee table, some with Harry Potter written in the heading and others with Ron Weasley. She did not have the energy to help them both with their homework tonight.

Normally she didn't mind editing their essays and explaining concepts they should have learned in class. But the ache in her bones from wandering around the forest and the headache of dealing with teenage boys all day made her less tolerant tonight.

"Thank you so much for dinner," Hermione said. She stood up swiftly and kissed them both on the cheek.

"Sleep well! Goodnight," She said pacing quickly to the stairwell leading to the girls' dormitory.

" 'Mione wait!" Ron called. She turned back around reluctantly.

"I'm not going to ask you to edit my papers...yet. I wanted to tell you and Harry something." He grinned at her. She trudged back to the couch, fighting a smile. Every Weasley she had ever met possessed the dangerous gift of an infectious smile. She could never stay mad at any of them for long.

"Well, get on with it then." Harry nudged Ron's shoulder from his seat

"I'm trying out for Keeper." Ron said bashfully, looking at the ground and rubbing his neck with one hand.

"Ron, that's great! I'm so proud of you!" Hermione said, pushing his shoulder with one hand.

"Congrats mate!" Harry supplied. Hermione knew Voldemort and the ministry were taking a toll on his mental health. Normally he would be over the moon about having his best friend join the Gryffindor team.

Ron was not deterred by Harry's melancholy, Hermione doubted he even noticed it. She always was the more observant faction of the trio. "I must admit, I'm a bit nervous," he said sheepishly.

"Ron, I know you'll do amazing. You have nothing to worry about, you live and breathe Quidditch!" Hermione laughed. His eyes shone as he smiled back at her.

"I just thought I should try y'know?"

"Absolutely you should! They'll be lucky to have you," She promised.

...................

Hermione only had to go into the forest with Malfoy four times a week. Professor McGonagall had accounted for their homework, prefect meetings and Malfoy's Quidditch practices.

The tense silence was becoming unbearable.

By no means was she an extroverted person. She enjoyed the quiet, for many years she was content for books to be her only companionship. But she had an instinctual urge to break awkward silences. Her mind scoured hundreds of topics and questions she had for Malfoy. For example: Was he aware that he came off as a prat instead of a prince?

They would spend hours together, alone, throughout the week. And they wouldn't speak a word that wasn't basic commands like: "Look, there are the Boom Berries," or, "You're going to step right into that quicksand".

After her body acclimated to the strenuous hikes, she grew bored. No longer focused on her body's pleads for her to slow down, her mind wandered.

It surprised her that Malfoy didn't appear to share her boredom. He was so confident and loud in school, yelling in hallways, bullying random students. He seemed the textbook definition of outgoing. She'd figured he grow bored too and resort to taunting her at the very least.

He was quiet and sullen on their hikes. As time passed, his sneers and cruel comments lessened. 

It became clear to her his cruel demeanor was a situational instead of instinctual. And that behind this mask left a reserved, introverted boy.

She guessed that maybe he'd forgotten to maintain face in front of her after spending hours alone in an isolated environment. Enough time must've passed for him to realize he was wasting unnecessary energy being cruel to her where no one would see.

After all, who would believe her if she said Malfoy was secretly quiet and didn't antagonize her at every chance he got?

Sometimes, when he thought she was looking, he'd grab a stone he thought looked interesting or he'd run his ringed fingers across a particularly rough tree trunk. Once, when he thought she was out of earshot, he tried to whistle at a baby bunny.

In the moments just before she fell asleep at night, she wondered if he might have enjoyed the solitude in nature.

She then pondered the idea that she might be the only person in the world to see a glimpse of what was left behind after he took the mask off.

And, the most dangerous contemplation of them all, she wondered if Malfoy was not free.

When she woke in her crimson bed sheets the next morning and ate breakfast at the Gryffindor table, she tried to forget these thoughts.

But the damage had been done. She realized she might have no idea who Draco Malfoy was.

Weeks passed since her night under the stars. Today was her Birthday.

At breakfast, she was directed to an English Breakfast and presents. Harry handed her a poorly wrapped box. Inside was a necklace, the pendant was a circular glass locket. It looked like a small compass but instead of an arrow pointing north, it contained tiny gold stars outlining the Hermione constellation inside. He told her the stars in the locket were a small piece from the real constellation, so she better not break it because it cost him a fortune. Hermione felt the uncomfortable sensation of gratitude that made her eyes water while thanking him. As she hugged him she made sure to keep her eyes tucked into his shoulder.

Ginny gave her a Quill enchanted to turn into a dagger. She "forgot" to tell Hermione this minor detail and so she accidentally wielded a knife in DADA when Professor Umbridge's pink tweed adorned back was turned.

Ron gave her a book about Quidditch.

She was surprised when Lavender and Parvarti came up to her during charms. Parvarti handed her an expensive-looking Chanel red lipstick in the shade Gabrielle. Lavender gave her a book titled, An Analysis of Vincent Van Gogh's work, because she'd heard her muttering something about A Starry Night, in her sleep. Her face flushed at that.

Luna gave her a sack filled with crystals.

Neville gave her a hug and apologized profusely for not remembering. He then rummaged through his bag for five minutes and handed her a tiny succulent.

Viktor Krum wrote to tell her Happy Birthday, and to remind her his offer remained open -she could visit anytime she wished.

But her favorite present of all came from her parents. She was sipping the last of her coffee when a carefully bubble-wrapped package fell onto her empty plate.

Inside, was the greatest treasure she could ever wish for: a navy blue Walkman. It was a hard plastic box, a little larger than her hand, with a set of black earphones plugged into the side.

A collection of cassette tapes accompanied it, ranging from Elton John to Mariah Carey.

She was overjoyed.

Only Harry understood what it was. He was excited about it too. The muggle concept of technology was difficult for many purebloods and halfbloods to understand.

She floated through her classes with the Walkman weighing down her robe pocket. Today was a Friday, she and Malfoy were given a list on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. On weekdays, they went immediately after classes ended and on Saturday they went before breakfast.

After classes, she rushed to her room to change into her uniform of a black windbreaker, shiny dark green rain boots, jeans, and a green jumper from Ginny's collection. She preferred to braid her hair back in some fashion to keep the meddlesome curls out of her eyes while she hunted for the plants. She settled on one messy plait at the base of her neck.

She grabbed the amulet, basket, wand, and the Walkman, and then set off to meet Malfoy outside the infirmary. They'd started to change into outdoor clothes right after class to save time, they would then go collect the list and walk to the forest together.

She spied his pale golden hair by the tall infirmary doors. He leaned against the wall, decked out in his all-black ensemble. She briefly wondered what he might look like in baby blue colored robes.

Hermione pushed those thoughts away and marched up to him. He offered no greeting and turned to walk through the doorway.

Madam Pomfrey was tending to a sobbing first-year Slytherin. Hermione heard there was an accident with the flying lessons today. She assumed this was the boy who fell off his broom. Madam Pomfrey was forcing him to swallow a Skele-Gro potion, he must've broken his arm in the fall.

She looked at Malfoy expectantly.

"What?" He glared back at her.

"That's your house. Go help him." She told him, gesturing to his prefect badge.

"No."

"It's your job? What do you mean no?"

"I don't want to."

"Fine, then I'll do it." Hermione pushed past him. The first year probably hadn't had enough time to make friends yet and now had to go through this traumatic ordeal alone. It reminded her of how lonely she was before she became friends with Harry and Ron.

"Hello there", she smiled at the boy, sitting down on the chair by his bed. Tears tracked down his cheeks, his face was flushed in embarrassment and pain. He probably hated having the infamous Draco Malfoy watch him cry.

"Hi." He mumbled, sniffing, while Madam Pomfrey gave her a grateful look. She was rubbing a clear ointment into the shallow scratches on his arms and calves.

"What's your name?" She asked, brushing hair away that had fallen out of her braid.

"Justin, Justin Armstrong," He said, trying to wipe his tears away.

"Well Justin, you were very brave for drinking a Skele-Gro potion, you know that right? I have a friend who drank one," Malfoy snorted at this, "...his second year, and he tried to spit it out!"

"Really?"

"I promise! You didn't even flinch, that was very impressive." She praised him.

"I flinched a little bit," he mumbled, blushing shyly.

"Maybe a little bit, but not very much," she reassured. "It's okay to be scared and cry sometimes, I certainly have before." Malfoy scoffed again, this time from farther away.

He nodded, unconvinced but trying to appease the random witch sitting at his bedside.

She stayed seated next to him and talked about his lessons with him while Madam Pomfrey finished her treatment. She even held one of his hands when Madam Pomfrey snapped his dislocated finger back in place.

When Madam Pomfrey finished, Hermione said goodbye to Justin and grabbed the list she hastily wrote for them.

Malfoy had fallen asleep on a nearby cot.

Hermione was hesitant to wake him, she felt uncomfortable seeing him in such a vulnerable position. His face was neutral and free of the permanent scowl he wore when stalking around the castle. Left with no other option, she gently shook his shoulder and stepped back. His eyes opening slowly, he gave her a small, lazy, close-lipped smile, before clearing his groggy eyes and realizing which muggleborn witch stood in front of him. He then glared at her (as usual).

On their way out, they passed Madam Pomfrey exiting her office. Madam Pomfrey and Malfoy exchanged a loaded look. It reminded Hermione of the expression Professor McGonagall held as she reminded Malfoy about his "history with Ms.Granger", there was a hidden depth or code inside it. They were communicating through the unspoken and Hermione's mind was not on the same wavelength.

He refused to look at her as they marched through the castle. Students had grown used to seeing the unlikely pair together. In the first week, it became tedious and inefficient to walk separately, so whispers followed them everywhere they went. But after the news spread about their task, the student body moved onto the next gossip.

"Malfoy!" A masculine voice called behind them. They continued walking at a brisk pace.

"Malfoy, wait!" They called again. Hermione looked over to see Malfoy's jaw clenched, was he just not going to respond?

"Malfoy!" He was yanked back by his cloak. Hermione stopped, unsure if she should wait for him or leave him be.

Theodore Nott, a Slytherin in their year whom Hermione had never spoken a word to, stood expectantly before them.

"You heard me calling, why didn't you stop?" His left hand was on his hip, holding a thin book she couldn't read the title of. He was huffed dramatically.

"Places to be, people to see," Malfoy said carelessly waving his hand and trying to turn back around.

"Wait! Merlin-Jesus-Fucking-Christ, wait a fucking minute. Do you have the quill I let you borrow?"

Hermione wondered if his pureblood family knew he used muggle slang.

"What quill?" Malfoy huffed in annoyance, not reprimanding his friend for using muggle terms.

"The quill I let you borrow? Are you daft?" Theo said, smirking.

"I never borrowed a quill or yours and you know that."

"Ah, my bad. I must've mistaken your fat arse for Crabbe's. I'll let you get to whatever you both were racing to do."

Hermione couldn't help it, she snorted. He grinned back at her. Never in all of her years at Hogwarts had she heard someone speak to Malfoy like this. It seemed to be standard behavior from Nott though because he didn't even flinch when Malfoy punched him. He seemed to be expecting it.

Malfoy drove his fist straight into Nott's pointy nose. It was a shame, she thought absentmindedly. He had a face that renaissance artists would sculpt onto statues.

"Shit, alright. OW!" He shouted into the nearly empty hall, not caring about attention from passing by students. He bent down so that his elbows rested on his knees, fingers clutched his bleeding nose.

"FUCK! That hurts!" He yelled. Malfoy grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the scene of the crime. He started towards the end of the hall again, yanking her in line with him. The feeling of the metal rings biting into the thin fabric on her arms reminded her of his hand on the base of her throat in the astronomy tower. She shook her head, she didn't need to be reminiscing about that.

"SHIT," Theo screamed, a flock of birds flew off a windowsill. Warm laughter bubbled up in her chest. Not even the first year, Justin Armstrong, yelled like that when his finger was pushed back into its socket.

She pulled her arm out of Malfoys biting grip and pivoted on her heel.

"Are you alright?" She called. Nott mumbled something she couldn't quite hear in response. She walked closer to him hesitantly. Malfoy blindly grabbed for her arm again, she jumped out of the way.

"Granger, let's get going. I'm not spending more time with you out there than I have to."

"UGH! I'm in horrible pain!" Theo exclaimed loudly, even though one corner of his lip was curling up.

"I could do an Episkey on it if you want," she offered. It was the least she could do for the noble hero that said Malfoy had a fat arse to his face.

"If it wouldn't be too much to ask for?" He trailed off, gestured to his bloody nose.

He had to bend down for her wand to reach his nose. Up close, his raven locks were even more breathtakingly beautiful. His light green eyes were framed in thick lashes. As she murmured a soft episkey, she felt two sets of eyes on her. Nott didn't even make a sound when the spell caused a startling temperature shift from his head to his nose; for someone so reactive earlier, he was very quiet now.

Malfoy grabbed her arm as soon as she finished setting the broken nose. Right before he yanked her back into a brisk walk away, Theo said, "Happy Birthday Hermione," with a soft smile.

She looked over her shoulder at him, he was leaning against the stone wall with a slight slouch, grinning at her. She turned her back and smiled at the ground. A stubborn blush formed on her cheeks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: To Be So Lonely - Harry Styles

They trudged down the slippery, muddy hill and into the forest. Hermione withdrew her walkman and popped in the cassette tape of Rumors, by Fleetwood Mac. The hard plastic of the machine was warm from her body heat. Malfoy watched warily as she plugged in the earphones. His eyes were swiveling, spinning, silver spotlights, unsure of what to focus on. 

“What is that?” He murmured in a reluctant voice. The chirping of nearby birds and the crunch of their footsteps almost drowned his soft voice out.

“A Walkman.” She shrugged, unwilling to elaborate. 

“What’s a Walkman?”

“It’s like a portable way to play music.” She said, hitting the button to start the music. 

She saw his lips moving in her peripheral vision. She yanked one of the earphones out, “What?”

“I said, how does it work?” He muttered, pointedly looking away from her so she only saw the back of his head. The sunlit golden strands reminded her of the shiny coins at the bottom of the mall fountain. As a child, she would try and pluck them out of the water, enchanted by their magnificent beauty. Her mother would pull her back, gently scolding that they weren’t for her, they were supposed to stay at the bottom of the fountain.

“I put the cassette tape in the machine. The cassette tape has a particular album on it that I chose. And then I hit play and the sound goes through these earphones and into my ears.” She said, moving to plug the aforementioned earphones back in.

“What is an album?”

“Oh my God.” She cried in exasperation. 

“Well if you don’t want to explain it then don’t even bother.” He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll suffer through it,” she relented. She answered all of his questions, Hermione was certain he asked more than any Muggle —even the first to use the Walkman— ever had. 

They stumbled into long conversations about muggle inventions and music while digging blushing roses and Dittany from the Earth. She almost walked past the Jewelweed when trying to explain the functioning of a telly. 

When she walked back to the Gryffindor common room later, she realized she hadn’t heard a single note of music throughout their entire hike.  


...................

From then on, each time they met, Malfoy would timidly ask her to explain another Muggle concept. These ranged from automobiles to McDonald's to rubber ducks. She wondered who or what was supplying him with Muggle concepts to question. Judging from his pureblood circle and his controlling father, it wasn't likely that he stumbled across them randomly.

A week passed. This new persona of his gave Hermione whiplash. In the beginning, the questions would slip out sporadically. She'd be lost in thought, collecting the leafs of a Lady's Mantle, and he would break the peaceful silence. The first few times he did this, she would jump, startled by the sudden low timbre, but then she began to anticipate them. It took him anywhere from ten to thirty minutes to work up the courage.

She'd wondered if the delay was due to him trying to resist the temptation, or rather to muster the courage to ask them. 

This curiosity was satiated when his tyranny over Hogwarts seemed to single out her more than anyone else. He took a special interest in taunting her, Malfoy had a slew of degrading comments ready anytime he saw her.

She wondered if he was trying to compensate for his innocent curiosity on their hikes.

Even oblivious Harry and Ron began to notice how Malfoy singled her out more than usual. She had to yank them back by their robes each time they jerked towards Malfoy. 

But it was getting harder to let his insults roll off her back. What once felt like occasional pellets of pebbles transformed into torrents of stones. She felt pitiful and bruised. 

Especially when as soon as they entered the forest, his tone would switch from cruel to curious like the flip of a switch. It was bewildering, he didn't acknowledge the change so neither did she. Everything between them was fragile and unknown.

It was terribly unfair. While dealing with some kind of cognitive dissonance, Malfoy decided to make her the punching bag he took his frustrations out. 

And all she’d been trying to do was listen to music on her Walkman.

It wasn’t her fault that he was curious about Muggle things. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t comprehend a new development that contradicted his belief in blood superiority. 

He would slam his shoulder into her when they passed each other in the hallway. She began to purposefully move a few feet away from his path but he still managed to push her.

She got used to feeling the heat of his smoldering glare. Anytime they were in the same room, he would scowl at her like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

Her suppressed anger came to a peak after the Umbridge announced she was introducing an Inquisitorial Squad to Hogwarts. Malfoy was appointed the head of it. 

One evening, fifteen minutes before curfew, she was walking back from the library. The halls were lit only by a few torches and rays of moonlight slipping through windows. She felt a burnout similar to the one she’d experienced in her third year while taking eleven classes. Dumbledore's Army, her duties as Gryffindor prefect, studying for O.W.L.s, hiking through the forest four times a week, and dealing with Malfoy were taking a toll on her. She was absolutely knackered. 

This was probably why she didn’t notice footsteps behind her. 

Her head hung low, loose curls framed her face like blinders on a racehorse. She was on autopilot, she could walk the path from the library to the Gryffindor tower in her sleep. 

She jumped in shock when a hand clasped around her wrist and yanked her to a halt. Blunt nails bit into the soft skin of her arm, like the snakebites her elementary classmates gave each other on the bus, twisting their arms red and white. Except no one was laughing here, in the dark Hogwarts hallway.

Graham Montague, Slytherin chaser and sixth year, stood before her. There was a shiny silver prefect badge with an embroidered ‘I’ on his robes. 

“Can I help you?” She scowled, but a cold breeze of apprehension wafted through the hall and made her skin prickle. She loathed Graham Montague, but fear slithered and snuck its way into her anger.

“You shouldn’t be out past curfew.” He grinned. Something in his brown eyes' was unnerving and reptilian-like. He wasn't tall like Malfoy or Ron, but he was built like a lumberjack or a Viking. He looked years older than he was and dressed like it too. Like most Slytherins, he was meticulously primped and polished. It made the unraveled look in his eyes all the more striking.

“It’s not curfew yet.”

“My mistake Granger,” he said checking the time on his prefect pocket watch, “It will be in ten minutes. I wonder how I could fill the time before I turn you into Umbridge.” He stepped forward. Hermione froze and discreetly moved a hand towards her pocket. This time, she would not let herself be disarmed. 

“It would be a shame for someone to burn that greasy mop you call hair to a crisp,” Hermione said, eyelashes fluttering in mock innocence. One hand gripped the end of her sleeve and the other held her wand by her side, she hoped he didn't notice the trembling but the maniacal grin spreading across his face said he had.

“Montague!” A sharp voice splintered the tense air. From the end of the hall, Malfoy paced towards them. When he was a few feet away, his eyes scanned across her as they did when she told him about muggle things. Only this time he was rushed and clinical about it.

“Why are you fraternizing with the Mudblood?” Malfoy snapped, Montagues face heated. His disgusting smile dropped.

“You...you kept going on about her. I thought you wanted us to put her in her place?” The sixth-year said.

“You utter imbecile. Nobody deals with her but me. Is that clear?” Malfoys nostrils flared, Hermione noticed that sometime during this tense interaction he’d shifted so that his body blocked Montagues from view. 

Hermione crept away towards the end of the hall. Once she was far enough, she took off in a sprint.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Eyes in the Sun - Florist

The next time they went foraging, Hermione did not respond when Malfoy asked her why Muggle's had nuclear weapons and what was a nuclear weapon.

'I thought you wanted us to put her in her place?' The memory of Montague's raspy voice whispered in her head.

All of the effort she put into not provoking him, into letting his anger roll off her back, was wasted. She had hoped he would just exhaust himself and move on. But he was antagonized by her existence.

He expected her to pretend like they could mean something else to each other in the forest. Like they'd entered a separate dimension, and the Malfoy she knew to be her foraging partner was different than the one who exclusively "dealt with her".

She supposed someone as spoiled as him was always able to have his cake and eat it too.

Hermione was sick of lying to herself. He would show her an intimate, passive side of himself in the forest and then punish her relentlessly at school the next day for it. She never asked him to share something with her. She never desired that, especially if the repercussions was such cruel treatment.

Thirty minutes into their walk, she yanked out her earphones and pushed him. Surprised, he flew back into a tree.

"Why are you playing games with me."

"What?"

"Why are you acting like this in here, it's not fair. You need to pick which person you're going to be to me."

"What are you talking about Granger." His eyes held a warning look, two pools of liquid mercury. Toxic and deadly to someone like her, but oh so beautiful.

The two worlds they danced between were balanced on a tip of a sword. If she wasn't careful, one might fall off and shatter.

"You've been giving my shit at school every time you see me. You don't even harass Ron and Harry that much."

It felt ridiculous, trying to hold someone who never promised her anything accountable.

"You're imagining things." He brushed her off and tried to keep walking. This time, instead of shoving him again, she pulled him closer by his robe.

"If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to make your life hell." She whispered, and she meant it. Hermione hoped her face was steel and iron, no cracks of vulnerability.

"Is that a threat," he said lowly. An enchanting but angry flush waltzed across his graceful neck. She hated that every part of him was picturesque. She felt the lightest pressure of three finger tips settling on her hip: index, middle and ring. 

"Only if your behavior continues." Her mouth twitched up at the corner.

He looked over her shoulder, as she turned to see what he was staring at, he lunged at her. His body slammed them both into the hard ground. Twigs and pebbles dug into her back. Loose hair from her braid flew across her head and some went into her open mouth. He clamped a hand over her lips and motioned for her to be quiet with his other hand. Their bones clashed together through their clothes in an awkward fumble. He didn't look at her, his head was turned towards whatever was coming, but his hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, swiped the flyaway hairs out of her mouth. For hair he insulted daily, he sure did seem to make a habit out of touching it. Her body was tense against his and her heart hammered so hard against her chest it hurt.

Suddenly, a glittering white figure raced into the clearing. The unicorn stopped by the small creek and lowered its snout to the water. It's silver mane glowed and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the foliage. The single horn centered on its head was so reflective, it hurt Hermione's eyes.

Malfoy's cold hand slowly slid off of her face, he quietly shifted his elbow so it was next to her shoulder. Hermione knew it must've been due to the shock of seeing the unicorn, but she wished he'd hurry up and take his hand off her face. It left an embarrassing, traitorous blush in its wake. She tried to ignore the fact that their chests were still pressed together.

After a few minutes of Malfoy's exhales matching her inhales, the Unicorn trotted off through the trees. Hermione had never seen a genuine smile form on his face, one that was caused by happiness not cruelty. The barest flicker of one painted his face, his lips battled against his emotions, he struggled to maintain his daily uniform of a stony expression. But eventually, his shock and awe won because a golden grin prevailed. He turned to look at her, realizing she was still trapped beneath him. Malfoy rushed off of her. His thumb accidentally grazed her flushed cheekbone as he lifted himself off the ground.

They spent another thirty minutes collecting Cowbane and then began to trek home.

"What I meant to say earlier..." she mumbled, "is that I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here."

He said nothing in response, so she kept going.

"I don't understand why you berate me at school, and then pester me with questions about...about things you supposedly hate me for." She gestured to the trees around them.

"I wish you would just pick a person to be and stick with it."

He remained quiet, she could only see the side of his stoic face. She was directionless, she had no prior knowledge to know any telling physical signs of his thoughts. His fingers twitched around his basket's honey colored handle.

"And yesterday, with Montague in the hallway. I felt betrayed. You're messing with my head. I know you aren't my friend, but I thought that maybe... we owed each other more than that?" She trailed off, face heating with the realization that she was oversharing with Draco Malfoy.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in a voice softer than she'd ever heard anyone speak. Hermione almost didn't hear it over the noise of their boots trampling twigs.

"Could you just," she tried hesitantly, not sure when he would snap back to his normal self, "...Could you just leave me alone at school?"

He nodded, blonde fringe falling over his eyes.

Hermione cast tempus to check the time.

"Why don't you just get a watch at this point?" Malfoy questioned.

"I had one but Ron took it."

His sharp, sudden laugh startled her. It reminded her of school Malfoy, "He can't even afford his own watch so he steals his girlfriend's?" He turned towards her, seeming to be searching for something on her face like he was testing her.

"He liked mine and I didn't really need it since I know the spell for time, so I let him have it. He shows up late to everything, I thought he would use it more than me."

They walked in silence the rest of the way back. Malfoy's face was stoic but Hermione could see an angry flush tiptoeing up his neck like a dancing ballerina. She sighed, they couldn't go five seconds without shattering the fragile peace they'd made.

Hermione went to bed with a full belly and a satisfied smile. Her mood had drastically improved.

The next morning, she ate her breakfast in peace. There was no silver glare beating down on her like overbearing sun rays in a desert.

She walked through the hallways without being shoved into the stone walls.

And she walked past the Slytherins without hearing evil cackles of laughter at her expense.

In the evening, she had an introductory practice with the DA in the room of requirement. Harry gave them a thirty-minute instruction on what he planned to teach them. His eyes would wander over to her spot in the crowd and she would give him a reassuring nod.

Much like Malfoy, Harry had two sides to himself. There was an awkward, easily flustered side that accidentally spit out his pumpkin juice when staring at Cho Chang. And then there was the version that fought Voldemort, yelled at Umbridge, and gazed at Sirius and the Weasley family with heartbreaking desperation only an orphan could portray.

Hermione loved both sides of him, but she wished he never had to be the second version.

After sneaking back to the Gryffindor common room, she hugged Ron and Harry goodnight. Ron didn't let her go after she tried to pull away.

"Ron?"

"Oh. Sorry 'Mione," He blushed, his freckles ever prominent on his round face. "I'm a bit nervous for the game tomorrow I guess." His warm, wool sweater covered arms released her.

"You'll do great. Now, off to bed with both of you!" She waved in the direction of the boy's stairs and followed Ginny to their room.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, following Hermione to her bed. Hermione hummed in response, turning over her crimson bed duvet cover.

"Do you have a crush on Ron?" Ginny questioned. Hermione lifted her head in shock.

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know, you never talk about that kind of thing with us."

"No Ginny, I don't have a crush on Ron. I might've had some feelings for him when I was younger but none that stuck with me," Hermione promised.

"Alright, just wondering." And with the social grace of Hagrid dancing at the Yule ball, Ginny transitioned from one uncomfortable topic to another, "Nott's gotten pretty fit, don't you think?" 

"Ginny!" Hermione shoved at her shoulder. Childish laughter erupted from both of them. Ginny shoved her back, stood up and sauntered into her bed across the room. 

"Goodnight Hermione." Ginny mumbled, already half asleep.

"Goodnight Ginny."

"Where's my fucking goodnight?" A voice called from the bed by the door.

"Goodnight Lavender. Sorry, didn't see you in the dark."

"Goodnight Ginny. Goodnight Hermione," Lavender said.

"Ahem."

"Oh sorry, Parvarti, Good-" Hermione tried to say before being cut off.

"Merlin! Goodnight EVERYONE!" Ginny hollered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Movement - Hozier
> 
> Trigger warning at end of chapter if you need it.

Ron couldn’t even talk at breakfast. His eyes darted around the table, he stacked food on his plate in a pile taller than Mount Everest, but he didn’t take a single bite. He just held a fork in one hand and a knife in the other.

The look in his eyes reminded Hermione of the dogs in the animal shelter commercials she’d seen on her parents' telly.

Since Ginny was accepted as a Chaser this year, Hermione was left companionless for Quidditch games. Luna wouldn't have been her first choice, but Hermione didn't have many options. Her dreamy expression coupled with her alarmingly insightful perspective unnerved Hermione. She saw her long platinum hair turning a corner, “Luna!” She called. There was no response.

Was Luna ignoring her? Did she find someone else to sit with? Maybe Hermione misunderstood their conversation.

Luna poked her head back around the corner. Hermione chided herself for overthinking the friendly girl's actions.

“Good morning Hermione!” Luna called back to her.

Hermione walked over and linked arms with her. Tiny glass mushrooms dangled from Luna's ears, they were startlingly similar to the Speckled Robin Red Mushrooms Hermione and Malfoy picked on their first forage.

"Good morning Luna."

They made it halfway down the hall before Theo came up to them, “Miss Lovegood and Miss Granger”, he said with a grandiose bow, “If I may accompany you ladies to the Quidditch game, I will die a happy man.”

“Die?” Hermione questioned with the raise of an eyebrow.

“I accidentally,” he shrugged, waving a hand nonchalantly, “...may have misplaced a herd of geese in Umbridge’s office.”

“Oh Theo, don’t worry. They won’t kill you for that.” Luna said comfortingly. Theo wiped fake sweat off of his forehead.

"Well, these geese...how do I say this in polite company? The geese had an unpredictable surge in bowel movements as soon as I locked them in there." His slender fingers dragged along the stone wall as they walked.

Hermione twirled a strand of her thick, unruly hair. She looked at Luna's glossy platinum white locks in envy. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that if she looked and acted more like Luna, boys would find her more approachable and likable.

Luna interrupted her insecure pondering. It was like she could see a toxic green radiation glow surrounding Hermione's head like a halo, a telltale sign of the poisonous thoughts ruminating inside.

With all of her talk about Nargles, it might be worthwhile speculation.

"Rest assured Theodore Nott, they stopped killing Hogwarts students as a punishment for rule breaking in... Hermione, what year was it?" Luna asked in her sweet, melodic voice.

The sudden attention made Hermione's face heat. She had been content to remain awkwardly silent during Luna and Nott's conversation, "The administration never killed Hogwarts students, and they haven't used the Cruciatus curse since the Middle Ages."

“That certainly is both a relief and a disappointment to hear.” He said. Luna’s large blue eyes looked at him in mild amusement before turning to look out a passing window.

At their lack of verbal response, he continued saying, “You know, it was like a joke about suicide?” He held his arms up in mock surrender, “Don’t report me to Dumbledore,” he continued, “I swear I won’t do it. Just a joke,” he barked out laughter at their expressions. Hermione was overwhelmed by his confident charisma and outspoken manner.

“Alright,” he clapped his hands, “You ladies don’t mind if I sit with you, right?”

Hermione didn’t understand why he wanted to sit in the Gryffindor section with them when he had friends like Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zambini to be with.

_ He’s just doing it as a joke, no one would risk house criticism to sit with someone as unbearable as you. Especially not someone as charismatic and outgoing as him. _

No, that was ridiculous. In all of their years of school together, he’d never said anything unkind to her even when his friends did.

_ But he never said anything when his friends did… _

Memories flooded her thoughts of walking to class and holding her breath, hoping she might creep by without someone making a spectacle of her.

One month in her second year, she woke up an hour early each morning to test hair products, hoping one would successfully tame her vicious curls in a way that would finally shut Pansy Parkinson up. One of those bottles burnt her scalp, she was forced to run to Madam Pomfrey with her head in searing agony. The next day Malfoy and his friends jeered about a “...Crying Mudblood wailing through the halls like a ghost”.

It was strange, she could somehow forget that Malfoy starred in the ‘Hermione Granger Show’ as the main antagonist. But Theo, someone who hadn’t even auditioned for a supporting role, felt less redeemable.

She'd come to expect nothing except the worst from Draco Malfoy. She held strangers to a higher accountability than she did her classmate of five years.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to sit with us.” The biting words slipped out of Hermione’s mouth without a second thought. Theo’s playful smile faded.

It felt like she hit a dog for bringing her the wrong newspaper.

_ Look what you did. No wonder all of the purebloods hate you. You bitch about equality and then when they finally treat you with respect, you bitch some more. Nothing will ever satisfy you. And so you distract yourself with other peoples-” _

“Hermione, it’s lovely to have a new friend don’t you think.” Luna smiled at her like she could sense Hermione’s thoughts. “Theodore Nott is in my Herbology class —a lovely subject— and I said he could sit with us yesterday,” she said in her dreamy voice.

“Theodore Nott,” she turned to him, “Hermione Granger is such a wonderful person so caring towards others." She turned towards Hermione, "And Theodore Nott is so caring towards himself. You both could learn so much from each other,” she finished.

Hermione was reminded that Luna marched to the beat of her own drum when it came to social intelligence.

“Well, thank you for the...erm... compliment Luna! Let’s get moving,” Theo said, linking an arm between each of theirs. His side pressed into Hermiones, giving her the faintest impression of his body heat. His cologne gave her a whiff of tobacco and vanilla.

Hermione preferred the warm and comfortable Hogwarts library over the rickety Quidditch stands. Despite her crimson striped scarf, hat, mittens, and thick robes, she was freezing. The wooden bench was uncomfortable and cold. Her spine would be complaining the rest of the day due to the backless bleachers.

But her friends would be disappointed if she didn’t show.

If anyone had a problem with Theo and his emerald green robes, they didn’t confront him.

“What’s going on down there?” Theo pointed to the pitch.

“It looks like the Slytherin team has added a new accessory to their uniforms,” Luna said. She uncapped a thermos full of hot chocolate charmed to stay warm and started pouring it into cups.

Lavender turned around from her seat in front of them, “They’re making fun of Ron. Malfoy made badges that say, ‘Weasley is our King’”.

Of course he did. The blonde Slytherin had a peculiar affinity for bullying via the use of badges.

“Hi, Lavender.” Theo waved lazily at her.

“Oh hey, Theo! I didn’t know you were sitting with us today.” It seemed Theo and Hermione shared more than a few mutual acquaintances.

Both teams kicked off the ground and assumed their positions.

Hermione couldn’t help that her eyes wandered to pale golden hair in a green uniform.

He raised an arm in the air as a conductor would, and then ceremoniously dropped it. Immediately, the Slytherin stands became a messy chorus.

It took her a few moments to understand what they were trying to say, only hearing the words, “Weasley”, and “King”.

Lucky for her, the Slytherins were more than happy to repeat it.

_ “Weasley cannot save a thing, _

_ He cannot block a single ring, _

_ That's why Slytherins all sing: _

_ Weasley is our King. _

_ Weasley was born in a bin _

_ He always lets the Quaffle in _

_ Weasley will make sure we win _

_ Weasley is our King. _

_ Weasley is our King, _

_ Weasley is our King, _

_ He always lets the Quaffle in _

_ Weasley is our King. _ ”

The Gryffindor stands erupted in yells of fury. Ron’s face was dropped in shame. Throughout the game, he was flustered and sloppy. Visibly rattled, he allowed several goals to be scored.

Hermione hoped this didn’t have a lasting effect on his love for Quidditch. His confidence was easily crushed.

She peered around the field for Harry. Instead, she found Malfoy, staring at her from his broom. He smirked at her once he realized she was looking. It was a possessive, meaningful and almost expectant stare. One a friend would give another while they shared a secret joke. She'd only ever seen him direct this look towards Lucius Malfoy, waiting for his approval and praise on whatever blood supremacist thing he just said. 

Behind him, Harry soured through the air. He was like a streak of crimson paint on a canvas chasing after a golden speck.

Malfoy followed her gaze to see Harry close his fist around the snitch. His smirk dropped. She smiled.

The Gryffindor stands shot to their feet applauding and cheering. Even Theo raised a fist into the air.

Both teams descended to the ground. A hoard of Gryffindors gathered around Harry, clapping him on the back and cheering.

Suddenly, Malfoy shot across the pitch flanked by two other boys. Harry turned around to face him. She could see wild gestures and angry frowns, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. 

George and Harry suddenly lunged at him. Everyone in the stands gasped.

“That's hot,” Lavender muttered to Parvarti around a mouthful of popcorn.

It took three people to hold back George Weasley, they frantically grasped at his uniform and flailing body. Harry tried to charge at Malfoy again only to be yanked back by Fred.

Ron put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and walked him off the field. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of suicide


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Evermore - Taylor Swift, Bon Iver
> 
> Yay! I've been waiting for an evermore or folklore song to relate to the mood of a chapter. 
> 
> On a side note, if anybody knows how I can add a picture of my mood boards to this ao3 work, it would be much appreciated. 
> 
> Trigger warning at end of chapter if you need it.

It took Hermione ages to find them. She finally found the boys slumped on a rock by the lake. Harry’s tufts of brown hair were swept in all different directions. She didn't know if the messy brown mop was due to the wind or his anxious hands. Ron had his chin resting on his fist. It looked like a vampire came and sucked the life out of the usually energetic boys.

She’d been so anxious to find them but now she wasn’t sure what to say. Judging from their defected posture and forlorn looks, whatever punishment Umbridge gave wasn’t merciful. 

Just leave, they don’t want you to comfort them. They went to the lake without finding you first because they don’t need you. 

No, that wasn’t right. Five years had proved that Harry and Ron were impulsive when they were emotional. They didn’t think about how she would be worried about them. 

“Hermione?” Ron lifted his head and looked at her.

She swallowed her insecurities and said, “Hey, what happened back there?” Harry patted the spot on the boulder next to him.

They sat and watched the sunset over the trees. Rays of gold sunshine that had once reflected on the blue lake disappeared, an inky black sheen took its place. The air had a frosty chill to it, Hermione’s limbs felt heavy with the weight of the cold. 

“Malfoy was being a foul prick as usual,” Harry said, his serene face shifting into a scowl. His features, once neutral, pinched into an angry frown.

“Malfoy was talking about mum and Harry’s parents. Y’know, his usual shit but worse today.” Ron mumbled angrily, kicking at the mixture of wet dirt and sand surrounding the boulder below. 

Hermione thought of the way Malfoy smirked at her from his broom, like they schemed this cruel joke together. 

She must’ve misinterpreted his look, he would have to be as daft as a bag of Goosegrass to think she’d find this funny. He was probably looking at someone else in the crowd.

Nevertheless, she still felt a traitorous flush creep along her skin. She tried to quell it by focusing on braiding her hair back, only to realize the cold left her fingers too slow and clumsy. 

“Um-bitch took Harry and my brother's brooms, she said they can’t play ever again.” 

Hermione’s heart dropped to the ground next to three sets of shoes.

“Professor McGonagall wouldn’t allow that, Harry. She’llー”

“Hermione! She can’t do anything! Alright? Umbridge is going to make my life hell and she’s going to get away with it.” Hermione’s face flushed in embarrassment. 

You obviously don’t know how to comfort your friends. You should just go before you make it worse. You don’t want to go back to how it was before they helped you.

“Harry… she’s just trying to help.” Ron side-eyed him. The usual twinkle of light in his blue eyes was gone, an aged weariness took its place. It was clear that in Hermione's frequent absence, Ron had become well acquainted with Harry's outbursts and mood swings. Not to say she would've been very helpful in comforting Harry if she were there, judging by Harry’s latest reaction.

She really sucked as a friend.

“Well she’s bloody not, is she!” Harry glowered at the lake, not looking at either of them. “You know what, maybe it’s better if you leave me alone right now. I’m not in the right state of mind.” When neither of them moved right away, Harry stalked off towards the castle.

After a few moments of grim silence, Ron said, “You know, it wasn’t about you. He’s been snapping at me since school started.”

“I know,” she spoke with a neutral face. And she did know. But she also felt a crippling sting of rejection every time it happened. It was like Harry stepped on her toes, he didn't mean to, but the pain persisted. And she couldn't help but be wary of walking near him again. She and Ron were under-equipped to help Harry with the trauma of Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s return, but they were all he had.

And you’re failing at helping him. You’re not even trying, instead, you’re out frolicking in the forest with his nemesis, watching unicorns and talking about Muggle things.

“Hey, Hermione… you’re a good friend,” Ron said. “Sometimes,” he looked at her, “...sometimes, I feel like you take in too much. I mean, me and Harry don’t think twice about this kind of thing. But you, I see your face drop and— whatever the point is, don’t let him get to you. He’s going to apologize in a day.” He smiled at her, the last drops of sunlight trickling down his face.

“Thanks, Ron,” she murmured, keeping her face towards the pond so he couldn’t see her eye’s water. He always freaked out when she cried. 

...................

A week before Harry saved Hermione from the troll their first year, Hermione experienced her first heartbreak.

A heartbreak, in this context, is something that shatters your spirit in a way that needs repair. It rattles your bones, and dread drips red from the open wound on your chest. And you think, “Oh God, is this it?” You wonder, is this something I can come back from, and if I do, what will there be left of me? 

This first heartbreak did not come in the shape of a beautiful boy forgetting to fall in love with her. 

It came in the form of a grave, and inside the coffin, six feet below, rested her childhood innocence. 

On this day, Hermione learned that for girls of her blood status, the expiration date on childish fantasies was quite a bit sooner than it was for someone like Pansy Parkinson. 

In her new magical world, Hermione had the same amount of friends that she’d always had: zero.

Whenever she complained, her mother would quote the great philosopher Aristotle and say, “Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit.”

But a sour apple is still a meal when you’re starving. 

She’d been sitting in the library, in a hidden alcove. Someone would have to be seeking her out to find her. No one ever did.

Until today.

A fourth-year Ravenclaw appeared from behind a bookshelf and stumbled into her table. “Oh, hello there.” She smiled at Hermione and said her name was Eleanor Middleton. She looked at the cover of the book Hermione was reading, it was about magical creatures in modern times. 

Hermione had been delighted to learn that Unicorns were real and had wondered what other fairytale creatures had snuck off the pages and came to life.

Apparently, Eleanor Middleton had been wondering too, she said she “...loved that book. Unicorns are fascinating, aren’t they?” And she giggled like she and Hermione were sharing a secret joke that only Eleanor understood. But Hermione laughed in agreement like she knew what was funny.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Eleanor Middleton asked. And Hermione said that she'd love nothing more. 

A couple minutes later a few boys stumbled into the alcove in a way similar to Eleanor, one that made it seem accidental.

“Hey, guys! Come sit with me and Hermione.” She waved them over and introduced them all. There was a fifth-year Ravenclaw boy whose name she didn't hear when Eleanor Middleton introduced them and she didn't want to ask again and accidentally offend them. There was a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl named Francis Montague, and a second-year Slytherin named Graham Montague. 

They sat for some time, talking louder than what was admitted in their section of the library. It made Hermione anxious since she was on good terms with the librarian, Madam Pince. 

Madam Pince walked by and shushed them. She did a double-take when she saw Hermione. Hermione was proud that she’d surprised Madam Pince. She showed her that despite all of the hours Hermione spent tucked away in this corner alone, she could make friends if she wanted to. 

She wasn’t a loser.

She did feel uncomfortable though when Eleanor Middleton and the fifth year Ravenclaw complained about Madam Pince. How she had an ugly nose, and how it was no wonder she hadn’t been able to find a husband when she was a coldhearted bitch. 

Hermione nodded in agreement when they looked at her. She pushed back memories of Madam Pince patting her shoulder as she walked by her empty table, or how she’d leave a chocolate chip cookie on top of her stacks of books. 

“Hey Hermione,” Eleanor Middleton whispered in a conspiratorial way, “Do you want to see where the secret library is?”

“Hogwarts doesn’t have a secret library,” she whispered back, thinking she might be impressed by her knowledge of Hogwarts architecture. She wasn’t impressed.

“Yes it does,” Eleanor Middleton said sharply, her friendly smile vanishing from her face. “But if you don’t want to see it, we’ll just be on our way.” She said, all of them stood up.

“No! I’ll come to, I guess my books didn’t know about it,” she’d stammered, a nervous smile flickering on her face. Eleanor Middleton's face was stern as she nodded, a stark contrast to the uncontrollable laughter she had during her entire interaction with Hermione this afternoon.

They led her to the east wing on the sixth floor. A Montague sibling walked on each side of her the entire way. At the time, it felt like a promise of friendship but in her nightmares, it felt like they were marching her towards an impending doom. 

She stepped through the doorway first. 

There were no bookcases that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, no plush sofas to read on, no reading lamps or tall windows.

Expelliarmus, someone shouted cheerfully.

Her wand, a dragon heartstring with golden vines wrapping it, flew out of her pocket and into the fifth year's hand. A symbolic object of her identity reduced to her only means of physical defense, stolen from her. 

This “secret library” was a room covered in dust and debris. It was unfurnished and had a single porthole window near the ceiling. It was dark except for the light coming from each of their wands.

She’d tried to back away, but they formed a circle around her, closing in on her slowly. Her curls whipped her face as she frantically turned, trying to see all of them at once.

“What’s going on!” She asked.

“Graham, what do you want us to do now?” His sister asked. “You made us track down the mudblood, now get on with it,” she shoved Hermione towards him.

“Wait outside,” Graham Montague said, smirking in a way that sent chills down Hermione’s back.

“Hurry up,” his sister said.

Hermione made a move for the door as they left, only for it to be slammed in her face.

“What do you want from me? I don’t even know you.” She practically cried.

“You stupid little mudblood,” he laughed, his eyes were wide. “You don’t even —you don’t even know what you did, do you?” It seemed to make him even more angry and irrational when she shook her head no.

She waited, trembling and wishing she had her wand… or her mother.

“You ignored me… you tried to act like you were better than me. You think, a dirty, impure thing like you, is better than me.” He shouted the last part, aggressively combing a hand through his hair.

“When did I ignore you?” She stammered, unnerved by his behavior. He clearly wasn’t well. And she was all alone with him, no one was going to come looking for her.

“Three days ago! I asked you if you liked the book you were reading, and you didn’t answer me! I even repeated—” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you! I get very focused—”

A teeth rattling sensation on her face cut off her frantic explanation. He had slapped her across the face. 

“Don’t. Interrupt. Me.” He spit at her, practically foaming at the mouth with rage.

One would like to think a boy only a year older than her, somewhere between twelve and thirteen years old, would not be able to hit as hard as he did. Or that someone as young as Graham Montague could not be as mentally unwell as he was. Or that a group of teenagers would not enable his insanity.

One would like to think all of that, but it wasn’t true. 

Her cheek stung. Hermione had never been hit before. Her parents thought physical punishment was cruel and she’d never had a sibling to wrestle with. She suspected this hit might be very different than any she would’ve received in the previously mentioned categories. 

And now she knew what it felt like. She was an ant beneath the shoe of the largest man alive. Hermione had only been in search of the ripe fruit her mother told her about, she hadn't meant to land herself under a boot.

She stood stunned, shoulders caving in like a protective shell and fingers pressing into her stinging cheek. Graham Montague knocked on the door and called for the fifth year to come back. 

“Vanish them,” was all he said to the fifth year. The boy looked at Montague in disbelief, “Graham, I know I agreed to-”

“Vanish them or else,” a maniacal grin spread across his face. 

She would wonder what threat he could possibly hold over a boy three years his senior. Hermione later suspected it might have something to do with his immensely powerful father.

The much older boy swallowed and whispered evanesco, without looking at her.

She’d wondered what they would need to “vanish”. She knew the spell from reading the fifth-years textbooks. 

Hermione realized the spell's purpose a second later she no longer wore clothes. 

Hermione clutched at her chest and crossed her legs. She remembered her mother used to joke about having nightmares showing up to school naked when she was Hermione’s age.

Graham Montague laughed. Hermione was frozen in shock and fear, her adrenaline begged her to run, but her mind knew there was nowhere to go.

She wondered how someone could hate her so much.

The fifth-year never looked at her, not even her eyes. He marched back out the door as soon as he finished the spell.

Later, Hermione would wonder if that made it easier on him. If he could forget his role in her nightmares if he never acknowledged it.

His amusement faded and, if possible, an even more frightening look took place, “And now you’ll know humiliation as well. Think twice before you cross me in the future.” Graham Montague eyed her and when he saw her shrink back, his pleased smile returned.

He walked out the door. She ran after it and yanked on the doorknob but it was locked.

Hermione had never felt more vulnerable in her life. There was nothing except a moth-eaten rag with oil stains on it to cover her naked body. The room hadn’t been used in decades, dust and small broken metal bits covered the floor.

She pounded on the door for an hour before her arms gave out. Her cousin Jimmy used to tease her that she was too weak when he would visit for Christmas, and then he’d give her a piggyback ride to the dinner table. 

If only he was here to break the door open for her.

Later, she'd learn that two days passed with her trapped in the abandoned room. Her stomach had never felt pain like it did. Her throat felt like it was closing in on itself. Her head throbbed from dehydration and hunger. On the first night, when she had to go to the bathroom in the corner, she cried harder than the first time she got a flu shot.

Curled up in the corner naked with tear tracks dried on her cheeks is how a Hufflepuff prefect found her. A purple bruise littered on the apple of her cheekbone and a disgusting rag laid over her chest.

That was when Hermione learned the real secret of magic: some people would rather kill you than have to share it with you. And the only protection she had from these people was herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: child abuse and bullying scene some might find too disturbing to read


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Oh! Darling - The Beatles
> 
> I wish I could write these updates faster! I want to make them better quality though and so it's been taking me longer. 
> 
> The lyrics to the song of the chapter lowkey give me Joe Goldberg vibes from You, but I still like it. I don't have to justify it.
> 
> Please comment if you have any recommendations or suggestions. I really want to make sure I'm developing the characters well and making them realistic with flaws and all. It's great to hear feedback from ya'll and thank you to those who have commented on chapters before!!!

Harry was waiting for them in the common room when Ron and Hermione walked through the portrait hole. They’d spent nearly an hour sitting in silence, watching the slow and steady rise and fall of the lake's waves.

Harry mumbled an apology into her hair while hugging her; she accepted it as always. Ron patted Harry on the back. This reconciliation seemed routine to Ron, like he was just going through the motions.

She was so oblivious. How had she not realized Harry was struggling this much. She was so selfish, expecting Ron to be his sole supporter. Hermione wondered if she should skip the ski trip her parents planned for winter break to make up for her absence with Harry and Ron. 

She desperately missed her parents, but it didn’t feel right. The guilt would eat her alive.

Conflicted, Hermione decided to go to bed early and skip dinner. A headache throbbed at the base of her skull. She avoided looking in the mirror while brushing her teeth, there would be nothing good to say about what she saw. 

...................

“Entertaining game yesterday, was it not?”

Hermione’s hand clenched around the stiff parchment of the list of magical plants to collect. She had decided to give Malfoy the silent treatment as punishment for what he did to Ron and Harry.

It wasn’t the most eloquent and mature response, but it was the most satisfying. 

Except he hadn’t taken the hint. It had been thirty minutes and he wouldn’t shut up. He switched between topics of books he'd read, gossip from school, and himself (of course). But he must’ve finally hit his breaking point because he finally switched from monologuing to taunting her.

Still, she held strong and remained silent.

“Why the fuck are you ignoring me, Granger?” He snapped, his taunting grin dropped to a frown.

She stayed silent.

Suddenly, a kick to the back of her knee sent her crashing to the ground. Her puffy winter jacket cushioned her fall, but she was still annoyed and startled.

“Did you just kick me?” Hermione asked in disbelief, her voice rising with each word until she was on the verge of shrieking. She blew a curl out of her face and wiped the dirt off of her hands on her jeans. She felt a slight sting on her palm and looked down to see a thin, scraggly red line emerging out of the brown stains on her hands.

He was unbelievably annoying. 

She sighed in exasperation and headed for the small creek she spied between the trees on Malfoy’s left. As soon as she passed him he grabbed her wrist.

“Get off of me. I have to wash this out or it will get infected,” she said through gritted teeth, fury blooming into hot fiery balloons inside her chest. Her heart was racing, and her uncut hand was clenched into a fist. He had a natural talent for provoking her; no one ever antagonizes her as successfully as him.

A stream of ruby trickled down her arm and hit the ground as Malfoy's hand held her wrist up. He flipped her hand over and laid it flat in his palm. He then held his wand over the cut and whispered  _ scourgify.  _

The blood and dirt disappeared from her skin. He then muttered  _ episkey,  _ the cut on her hand sealed itself closed. The pink irritated skin faded back to its normal color.

She looked up at him. Golden strands of hair fell over his forehead. Hermione almost wanted to reach up and see if it was as soft as it looked.

His opal gray eyes flickered across her face, his features once furrowed in concentration now relaxed into a lazy, leisurely scan of her face. Sunlight filtered through the dark green foliage, rays of liquid gold streaking across his face like streams of water from a faucet. 

Then, he dropped her hand, breaking whatever third spell he must’ve cast on her.

“You’re completely helpless. You do realize you have magic to fix problems like this,” he smirked at her. Even when he was eleven, his voice always had a posh and arrogant chime to it. It bordered between elegance and snobbery. 

“You do realize there wouldn’t be a problem like this to fix if you hadn’t attacked me.” She said in an equally posh accent, mocking his aristocratic manner of speaking. He scowled back at her in response. 

“I’ll push you over again,” he threatened, a dark look in his eyes similar to the one she saw that night on the astronomy tower. 

They collected Gurdyroots in silence. The setting sun left a parting gift in the form of a golden hue. The early winter frost sucked the life from the flowers of the forest like a dementor's kiss. It was quieter than usual, many animals had gone into hibernation or migrated in preparation. 

When they began walking back, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Sometimes I forget I can use magic for simple tasks like that. It doesn’t matter how many spells I study, I still don’t have an instinctual magical response.” 

The words slipped out like a bottle of wine; she prayed she didn't spill as she poured scarlet liquid, damning herself to a crimson stain over her pounding heart. She probably shouldn’t share things like that with her mortal enemy.

“Well… that would make sense for you. You didn’t grow up with it.” Pale opal eyes sparkled back at her. If she laid her hand against his cheek, thumb atop his biting cheekbone and fingers loosely grasping his sharp jaw, she knew her cold hand and his freezing face would warm each other. Ivory skin fought against the red flush powdering across his cheeks from the sharp chill to the air. When he caught her staring at him, the rose rouge triumphed. 

God, he was so tall and handsome.

_ No. _

_ Absolutely not.  _

She can’t go there. 

He raised a hand to drag against a gray-brown tree trunk. A silver sparkle on his index finger caught her attention. The disgustingly proud ‘M’ glared at her from its sterling perch on Malfoy’s hand. 

Everything about him was golden, except that ring. And... maybe his eyes. But at some point in time, she separated the silver of the Malfoy heirloom and the moonlight glow of his eyes.

“I wasn’t entertained by the Quidditch game yesterday,” she said, finally answering the question before it went stale. 

It was a cold bucket of water poured over the sun-kissed warmth of silence. 

“Oh,” his jaw clenched and he scowled at the path ahead of them, “Not interested in seeing your boyfriend emasculated like that? Don’t worry he probably wasn’t even aware of what was going on; straight elevator music in that carrot head.” He suddenly ripped a piece of bark off a tree trunk his fingertips had danced over moments before.

“No,” she ground out, aware she was talking to the human equivalent of a brick wall, “ I don’t like seeing my friend humiliated. He didn’t do anything to you.” 

“But you have to admit the song was clever. I spent hours looking into rhyme schemes and what words—”

“Malfoy!” She nearly shrieked, heat swirling around her face as she interrupted their walk and turned to him. “It is not impressive to be sadistic. You think you’re superior like you’re the only one brave enough to act that way. It’s a choice everyone makes and you are the only one weak enough to succumb to apathy.”

He flinched when she said weak.

“Besides, even if I wasn’t friends with Ron, did you seriously think I would enjoy watching that? Not too long ago you would have done the same to me. I’m unsure whether you still would now.”

It was an uncomfortable thing to admit, and it felt wrong in the wake of their fragile companionship. But it soothed the ache in her gut, one brought on by guilt, round glasses, and ginger hair. She wasn’t sure if she wanted this ...companionship? She wasn’t even sure of what to call it, but she didn’t want it if it couldn’t survive this conversation.

He looked thoroughly confused and aggravated as he said, “I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

“But you did things like that. It doesn’t matter if they were slightly different,” she whispered. Hermione was ready to be back in the Gryffindor common room. This conversation was terrifying and draining. She knew she would over-analyze every second of it before she fell asleep; she'd wonder if she had spoken too harshly or too weakly.

“But it never affected you!" He insisted in a tone much louder than her whisper, "You were fine with your exclusive trio of martyrs, going off on all of your adventures. You've been first in our class every year. You were obviously unphased.”

“Do you have a bag of hair for a brain,” she was bewildered, “How does any of that equate to mental well being?”

Both of them were breathing heavily at this point. Static tension filled the air, making the hair on her arms stand up in anticipation. He looked at the ground in frustrated defeat.

“Look at me,” she whispered. His mouth was twisted like he'd tasted something rotten, and his expression was the panicked realization he'd poisoned himself. 

“I didn’t deserve any of what you did. The fact that I managed to overcome every obstacle you and every other blood purist set for me does not invalidate the fact that there were still obstacles.” She knew her face conveyed desperation for him...for someone to finally understand that.

“I’d like to do better, be better,” he stammered, overwhelmed. “Tell me how to make this better.” They'd stopped walking at some point during this conversation. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Tell me!” Malfoy insisted, stepping closer to her. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. 

"I'd like you to know," he paused, "that I didn't—don't really think like that... anymore." The words were delicate, like fine china sitting in a tornadoes path. The impending dread of telling him that didn't make up for the damage he'd inflicted added ten brutal pounds to Atlas's shoulders as the Titan held up all of humanity. 

He offered her unprecedented vulnerability, but she couldn't forgive him just because of that. 

"I'm surprised to hear that," she finally stammered. She didn't want to praise him for doing the bare minimum after years of being a monster. 

He turned forward and they started walking again. She thought that meant their conversation was done until he said, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” His gray eyes once stagnant moonlight, transformed into two hurricanes. A promise of delivery from an unstoppable force of nature.

_ Accio Walkman,  _ he said. The plastic rectangle flew out of her pocket.

“Hey!” She started, jerking towards him to pry it out of his greedy, entitled hands. 

“Shut up,” he muttered absentmindedly, fending her off with one arm. His other hand pressed the start button and pocketed the box. He then pulled the earphones out and put one in his ear.

His pale hand reached towards her, the other earphone rested on his outstretched palm.

She put it in. Hermione had no idea he knew how to work it, or that he was even keeping track of how she used it.

They both jumped at the sudden screaming of a guitar in their ears. He quickly turned the volume down, swearing under his breath.

The earphones kept falling out. One of them would take a step slightly to the side, and they would slide right out of their ears.

The fourth time this happened, Malfoy huffed in exasperation and aggressively grabbed her hand and yanked her in line next to him. 

Neither of them said anything about it. 

Despite the December chill, both of their hands were bare. Any gloves they wore would be stained by soil and plants.

His hand was cold, but the silver ring on his index finger was warm. Their fingers weren’t linked, she briefly wondered how he would react if she wove hers through his. His slender fingers wrapped around the edge of her palm; the groves of his palm fit like a puzzle piece against hers. 

Her heart accelerated and her face heated. 

Hermione’s shoulder brushed against his arm as they walked. His cologne, an aroma of green apples and mint lifted off his robes and floated towards her.

She’d never been around a boy that smelled like that.

_ Or as good as he did.  _

………………………………………….

Her hands clasped over her chest about the covers. Hermione scooped the hair up and away from the back of her neck, she could never sleep with it brushing against her skin. 

One of her roommates turned the lights out and whispered goodnight. The familiarity in the slight crackle in Crookshank's snore soothed her to sleep; the weight of him curled in a ball warmed her feet beneath the covers.

Just before she succumbed to Hypnos call, she thought about how she might like to hold his hand again.

She  might want to hold his hand again. She wasn’t sure.

And that he smelled very good.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been MIA for a bit because I was struggling to figure out how to redeem Draco. I recognize that he's very problematic and in a lot of his fanfics, he's borderline abusive. I really don't want to write something like that and so I'm trying to be very careful with his development. I also don't want Hermione to just forgive and forget like I've sometimes seen her characterized to do. It's tough finding a middle ground but I'm hopeful I can figure it out!
> 
> Song of Chapter: First Love / Late Spring- Mitski
> 
> I don't know what happened but I am addicted to Mitski's songs right now. I literally can't stop listening. I am saving my favorite song of her's for a different chapter though ;) I have a list of songs I'm saving for significant moments in the story and I can't wait to use them.

The weeks of December passed quickly; anticipation for the winter break grew. Snow blanketed the Hogwarts grounds and the forest trees. Hermione was surprised to see that despite piles of snow, every plant in the forest was still alive and well. 

Professor McGonagall explained that after thousands of years, the high concentration of magical creatures in the forest altered the plants' magical chemistry. 

It was still shocking every time they went foraging and stalks of pink tulips erupted from snowbanks.

Every time they walked back to Hogwarts, he’d grab her hand and they’d split the earphones. He would sigh as if someone asked him to hand wash every dish used for the Halloween feast, but not even five minutes later, his thumb would be tapping her hand to the beat of the song. 

One freezing morning she woke to see Ginny’s bed empty. The sheets were hanging off the bed and her trunk was missing. Ron and Harry were absent from breakfast; the Gryffindor common room was quiet without the Weasley twins' usual ruckus. 

Neville's soft brown eyes turned somber as he told her that Mr.Weasley had been attacked. He said that Harry told Professor McGonagall when it was happening. 

Her stomach dropped. 

“Oh, Mr.Weasley's alright though, he's at St.Mungo’s being treated.”

She gave a tight smile and excused herself to go to the Owlery.

Her uniform robes were no match for the frosty wind racing through the open windows. She wrote a letter to Harry and Ron as fast as she could. Naturally, she had a very messy cursive, one of her only academic flaws. She almost always had to rewrite everything but today she didn't. She wanted the letter to get to them as fast as possible.

She wrote that if they needed her, she would come as soon as she could. She sealed the letter with a red wax stamp someone else left on the stone table and sent it off with an owl. 

Cold stone bricks bit into her palm as she gripped the wall beside her; her forehead pressed into the stone arch bordering the open window. She waited until the owl’s flapping wings became a brown speck in the clouds before turning to leave.

It was hard to suppress the sour taste of exclusion, logically she knew it was ridiculous to be bitter. But with all of her friends fleeing together, she felt like an afterthought. Hermione wondered how long it would take for them to remember she was left behind. 

She supposed this is what she gets for spending so much time away from them. She just had to work harder; she was careless before. Her friendships were slipping because she’d been distracted.

She took an unconventional route from the Owlery to the library. Her winding path led her through the quieter, darker corridors of the castle.

If Harry was looking on his map, her footsteps would be a chaotic mix of circles and abrupt turns. There was little rhyme and reason to her wandering. 

It was a little disheartening to realize that although she and Harry had a very similar start in the wizarding world, he couldn't relate to her experience. They were thrown down a rabbit hole with no safety net in sight, and only one of them landed on their feet. The same gates that opened for Harry without a second look, she had to pry open with bleeding fingers. 

The Weasley's treated Harry like one of their own. They invited him to the burrow; Ron treated him like a brother. He fit right in, but she had obligations to her parents that prevented her from freefalling into the wizarding community. She had obligations to her blood status that barred her from passively perusing friend groups and wizarding communities. She was split between the muggle and wizarding world like a wishbone, she could never fully be a part of one. 

And so when Mr.Weasley was attacked, Harry was essential to their support system.

But she wasn't. 

Harry fits like a missing puzzle piece into Wizarding society. He fit everywhere she didn't. She knew better than most of the hardships he’s had to endure; during the Triwizard Tournament, she fell asleep with wet cheeks and puffy eyes every other night. But, in the most shameful part of her mind, she was jealous of how seamless his transition was, and how he didn’t have to choose what part of himself to be. 

The fast click of heels shocked her back to attention, the noise echoed through the desolate hallway intersecting her’s. Like Filch, Umbridge’s walk was too memorable to forget. She charged through halls with the self-importance of Napoleon marching to battle. Hermione jerked back against the wall, not desiring a confrontation with the horrible woman.

“Your father,” a prim and nasally snarl sounded. A shrill squeak only the uniform required Oxfords could make, made Hermione cringe. Umbridge must be reprimanding one of the female students. 

Though Hermione could peek around the corner and see who it was, she didn’t want to chance being caught eavesdropping. 

“Your father told me about the disgusting, impure acts you were involved in before I arrived at Hogwarts. And yet, I was still willing to take you under my wing". Umbridge was spitting words out as if she just realized the milk in her half-eaten cereal was curdled. 

“I appointed you onto the Inquisitorial squad. I let you make something of yourself”. Hermione's eyebrows raised.

“Only to find out…” her voice raised to a shriek, “...you were still whoring yourself around!” Hermione had never heard Umbridge speak like this before, even when she yelled at Harry in class. It triggered the same survival instinct Graham Montague’s presence did. 

A sarcastic snort sounded from Umbridge's companion. The ring of a sharp slap followed it. Hermione stifled a gasp, her hand tightened around her wand. 

“You…” she breathed heavily, “... you will not take this away from me because you can’t control your disgusting impulses. If I ever catch you again…” There was another squeak of an oxford shoe, Hermione’s worry for its owner overrode her apprehension of Umbridge. 

“Do you understand me?” The words were slow and sharp, Umbridge had reeled herself back into the posh, stiff persona she wore like a glove. But Hermione wasn’t fooled, she had heard her unravel.

Hermione looked around the corner, no longer caring if she was caught, “Yes,” Pansy Parkinson gritted out.

………………………

After the sharp click of heels on stone faded away, Hermione turned the corner. A tall feminine figure stood with her forehead against the wall. Her chin-length midnight black bob curtained her face from view. But Hermione knew if she could see her face, it would be scarlet red lips, round green eyes, and probably a swelling cheek.

On paper, she could have been Theo’s sister except his skin had a honey glow.Pansy’s skin was all-porcelain and pink flushes. His features were sharp and statuesque, hers were soft and innocent. She was widely regarded to possess the disposition of the Evil Queen but had the complexion of Snow White. That was until she discovered makeup last year and painted her face in beautiful eyeshadows and glossy lipsticks. Her youthful face was aged a few years by product and contour.

Suddenly, the Slytherin girl swung and punched the wall.

The pain must’ve been immense, she screamed in a window-shattering pitch. Hermione ran over to her after a moment's hesitation. 

“Try and calm down, let me see your hand,” Hermione braced herself, knowing the prejudiced and egotistical girl would not easily accept help.

“Get the fuck away from me,” she panted, tears sliding down her flushed cheeks, her upturned nose was scrunched, her jaw was clenched and her lips were sucked in. She looked all rage and grief, “How much of that did you hear?”

“I didn’t mean to. I was on my way to the library.” Hermione promised, staring at the wall near Pansy’s head instead of her calculating eyes and wet cheeks. Crying always made Hermione nervous, she would rather jump off the astronomy tower than sob in front of someone. She was mortified of the few occasions she couldn't hold back tears in front of her friends. 

“FUCK!” She shrieked, grabbing her hair and ducking her head down. She made to kick the stone wall before stopping herself, clearly remembering the epic tragedy of her hand moments prior. She took a deep breath, “You cannot tell anyone about this Granger.”

“I won’t. I just came over to check on your hand and…” she paused, knowing this would not be received well, “and to tell you that Umbridge can’t hit you. You should tell Professor Snape.”

Pansy laughed, a sound hollow and mocking. “Don’t worry about it Granger, just don’t tell anyone about what you heard.” A sympathetic twitch of scarlet lips left Hermione baffled. 

“I could… I could take a look at your hand if you want.” The suggestion was loaded with uncomfortable concern, this was the first conversation they’d had that wasn’t filled with insults and mockery. As anxious as it made Hermione, she suspected Pansy wouldn’t be heading over to Madame Pomfrey later.

Pansy looked skeptical; her knuckles were swollen and Hermione knew the bruises would be severe. Finally, after offensively long hesitation, she relented and held her hand out.

Hermione held it flat and cast a spell to see if any of the knuckles or fingers were broken. Pansy must’ve known how to throw a punch because her knuckles weren’t even fractured. She whispered Ferula and wrapped the bandages around her knuckles. She then conjured an ice pack, “For your face,” she gave Pansy a quick closed-mouth smile.

She tried to give the ice pack to Pansy’s uninjured hand only to realize her fist was clenched firmly at her side. Between the gaps of her fingers, Hermione could see something small and red. When she noticed Hermione looking at it, she shoved it in her robe pocket.

“Thanks, Granger,” she gave a small smile, grabbed the icepack, and then turned on her heel abruptly, marching out of sight.

Weird, Hermione shrugged and made her way to the library.

……………………………………………………

There were still a couple hours before lunch, and Professor McGonagall graciously decided to make Hermione and Malfoy spend them foraging. Even though the train was leaving right after eating lunch.

It was a good thing Hermione had packed four days ago in preparation.

The atmosphere in Hogwarts was lighthearted and cheerful. Most students were excited to go home to presents and family.

Usually, she was swept away in the excitement too, but her heart was heavy with concern for Mr.Weasley and her friends. Seamus and Dean shouted at her to join their game of fuck, marry, kill, but the only options were Wizengamot members. She almost threw her goblet of pumpkin juice at them when they started chanting her name. 

She and Malfoy walked through hallways decked in festive garlands and floating lights, students streamed by in herds. Laughter and chatter echoed throughout the castle. Someone in the distance who sounded suspiciously like Theo, sang horribly off-key. Everyone was in a good mood.

That was, except Malfoy.

His posture, normally stick-straight, was slumped and his shoulders caved in. His black boots dragged along the stone floor. These mannerisms might be standard for teenagers, but his usual walk looked effortlessly graceful, as if he was ice skating. His lips were stuck turned down, and his eyes were forlorn.

And he snapped at her more than usual.

Especially when she asked if he was excited to be home for the winter break.

So now both of them were on edge. She was anxious for her friends and Mr.Weasley’s health, and he was troubled by something unknown.

She waved to Hagrid when they passed his hut to walk into the forest. He was stringing up small animal carcasses, she cringed and looked away. Malfoy scoffed, she knocked his shoulder with hers. They glared at each other for a moment before disappearing into the trees.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of chapter: home with you- FKA twigs
> 
> At first, I was kind of put off by FKA twigs' music because the production is so different than what I'm used to, but this song makes me cry. IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL! When you listen to her explain the meaning behind it, I think you really come to appreciate it. I felt like the message of the song fits for both Hermione and Draco's dynamic right now. This is one of the songs I've been saving for a good chapter and I think this is the perfect one for it. 
> 
> ▲▲▲▲▲▲
> 
> Also, two updates in 24 hours?? What the fuck? Am I a God or a machine? All 3 of my readers are eating good with these updates lmao. Thank ya'll for commenting. I'm so interested to see what everyone is thinking about it. I keep checking my inbox —I should probably start my english essay but I am too inspired right now.

“White Carnation?”

“Innocence and pure luck.”

“Yellow rose?”

“Friendship and familiar happiness.”

Flower symbolism might be the last conversation Hermione would have ever predicted having with Draco Malfoy, but here they were. 

And it was all his fault.

It had been silent for nearly half an hour, except for the sounds of their boots crunching against the snow. 

Left with no explanation for his anger, she decided to leave him be. He had the temperament of his namesake, devastatingly explosive and unpredictable.

She didn’t think he was mad at her. Hermione suspected he would be much harder to deal with if that was the case (based on past experience). 

▲▲▲▲▲▲

Hermione's resolve to let him sulk wore thin quickly. She was desperately bored, but she didn't know how to snap him out of it. 

If it were Ron, she would surprise him with a chocolate frog. Harry would cheer up with a hug, and Ginny could never resist smiling after a dance party. She had no clue what cheered Malfoy up.

Probably the tears of his enemies.

His fingers graze the petals of a yellow chrysanthemum. The flower looked like a hundred peeling bananas glued together, it bobbled and swayed after he let go. 

It’d been twenty minutes of silence, she didn’t care if he'd snap at her anymore.

“The yellow chrysanthemum symbolizes slighted love.”

He peered at her from the corner of his eye. She tried to keep a nonchalant expression. 

A few minutes passed. In her peripheral vision, she saw him hesitantly touch a cluster of yellow carnations as they walked past.

“In the Victorian era, people spoke through flowers when they desired a discreet way of communicating. Usually, the messages were quite scandalous. Giving a gift of a yellow carnation would indicate rejection to a suitor's advances.”

It went on like that, him touching a flower they passed, and she would tell him what they meant. 

“What about those?” Malfoy pointed to her left. 

The first thing Hermione noticed was the vibrant clumps of tiny plum-colored flowers. It was still morning, the sky was cerulean blue and bronze rays lit the forest, but the flowers seemed to glow. She wondered if they were enchanted. 

The second thing Hermione noticed was that the flowers surrounded large, oval-shaped stones. They looked ancient, weathered by time and rain. They were clean of sleet and snow, like someone meticulously polished them after each snowfall. The stones stood out against white piles of snow like chocolate chips in a cookie. 

“When did those get here?” She pointed at the stones. 

“What type of flowers are those?” Malfoy countered with an edgy, demanding quality returning to his voice. She eyed his expensive boots and handcrafted outdoor clothes with distaste. The entitled prat in him really jumped out sometimes.

“Are you not curious as to why a random path just appeared here one day?” Her hands fell to her hips. It would take more than an opal glare for her back down. 

“That’s always been here,” he looked at her like she hit herself over the head with the walkman ten times, “Sometimes I wonder how your brain has so much room for flower symbolism,” he gestured his hands dramatically, “and why unicorns hate men, and literally anything said in class or written in a book. But then there’s moments like this, where you didn’t notice an entire fucking rock path—”

“Oh my god, are you done yet?”

“No.” 

“Well, I don’t want to listen to it. When did you notice this?” She pointed back down to the stone path. They seemed to be near the beginning of it; the flat rocks weaved through the trees and out of sight, the purple flowers clustering around each stone.

At his silence, she turned to look at him. His scowl was back, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. She was reminded that not many people dared to talk to him like this. 

He swept a hand through his golden hair in exasperation or defeat —she wasn’t sure, and said, “I tripped over those bloody boulders during detention first year.”

She vaguely remembered Malfoy almost face planting into the mud, he tried to pull her down with him. “Oh. So you weren’t grabbing my arm because you were scared?” 

“Fuck no. Is that what you thought?” 

“I mean, yeah?”

“Why didn’t you say anything at the time. You and Potter could’ve had a good laugh.” Sometimes, there was something in Malfoys's manner of speaking that piqued her interest, the way he carefully selected his words but attempted to appear nonchalant and unbothered.

But his eyes...his eyes always betrayed him; she’d come to learn this over their time together. And at this moment they were very much alike to his house mascot's, a cunning look only a Slytherin could manage.

His face was an aristocratic veil, a front of pureblood propriety, but it could never cover his opal grey eyes. 

“ I didn’t feel like it was worth the effort,” I didn’t want to embarrass you. But she is not ready to share that. The revelation that she didn't always hate him in the explosive, toxic way it escalated over the years.

His inquisitive look seared into her face, and she wondered if he was a legilimens because he looked like he knew something. 

“The flowers are heliotropes. They symbolize eternal love and devotion,” she added, trying to divert his attention. His searching gaze shattered. He blinked.

“Right,” he nodded. 

“I think these flowers might glow in the night. Do you see how the ones in the shade have a slight glow?” 

He nodded again.

“I want to follow it. Preferably at night to see if the flowers glow,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

“Let’s go now,” he made to follow it. She grabbed his arm. 

“We have to get back in time for the train,” she said, appalled that he tried to insinuate earlier that she was the idiot of the pair when he forgot about the train.

“Fine,” he muttered, not looking at her. 

A few moments passed, she swung her basket full of Dandelion Roots and Dittany in one hand. Her right hand was empty.

It is irrelevant if this move was strategic or not. 

He always grabbed her hand when they walked back, so the earphones wouldn’t fall out a thousand times, he said. But he didn’t want to listen to music today, so she didn’t think—

Cold fingers snatched up her hand and wound around it. He sighed, not one of petty exasperation, but a caress of sound like hot water pouring over sore muscles.

She tried not to think too much of it, but she inevitably would. 

When the looming trees thinned out, and they could see the distant outline of the golden castle, he stopped suddenly. 

She turned to look at him. He remained facing forward, his spine rigid.

“I don’t want to go home for break,” he said through gritted teeth. The words tumbled out of his mouth with the grace of stone grinding against brick. 

“Why?” she said because he brought it up. She wasn’t being nosy, even though Harry said she had a tendency to be.

“It’s… well I can’t really…” he was getting agitated again, his words fumbling. “I just don’t like going back there…”

“Oh,” because what else does one say to that? "Well at least you get to see your mother and father," she tried. 

“No, Hermione, you don’t understand. I hate it there,” he said with the finality of a door slamming shut.

“Why do you hate it there?” It was a fair question. Over the years, she’d seen pictures of Malfoy Manor and she couldn’t imagine what it was like to live and breathe wealth. His open honesty surprised her, not because he usually lied or withheld information. But because the most personal thing they had ever discussed was her imposter syndrome in the wizarding community.

She never expected him to meet her in the lethargic blue depths of vulnerability. 

It was bold, to be vulnerable with someone you weren’t very sure about. She had certainly never ripped bandaids off and shown wounds so gut-wrenching and so far-reaching to Ron and Harry. The expectation of rejection from Malfoy somehow made it easier to bear the fright of sharing.

“My father...he’s like toxic radiation, infecting the entire estate. Even if he leaves me alone, I can never just relax.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, “I am always on guard.”

“What about your mother? Don’t you want to see her?”

“I guess…” he kicked at a pebble. “She’s fine. Barely around, but I can’t say I blame her though. She deals with him year-round. She’s got to cope somehow.”

“I thought you were so—”, proud of your wealth and family, was what she was going to say before she cut herself off. She sensed that might trigger an outburst. 

But he knew what she meant, “It was never more than a weapon to wield. You wouldn’t know, but it’s ruthless in Slytherin. At least with the pureblood families who have been there for generations. And I have to represent the Malfoy line,” he spit out his last name like it was acid on his tongue. 

Hermione would easily believe him, that all Slytherins were superficial if he told her this last year. Before Theo wished her a happy Birthday with blood staining his robes from a recently broken-then-healed nose. Before Pansy was slapped by Umbridge for disobeying her father. 

He must have realized in her silence that she was skeptical, “It’s all I’ve ever known. I know for someone who wasn't raised like I was, it would be hard to see how wealth and unhappiness could coexist. But luxury doesn't cancel out the rest for me.”

Hermione couldn’t believe all Slytherins (teenagers) were concerned with superficial status when she recently discovered two that didn’t seem to care at all. And she couldn’t imagine growing bored of the life of a king as Malfoy described. 

“You know, a lot of people would kill to have your life,” she tried not to sound bitter. But did he really want pity for being rich? Even after years of bragging about it.

“That’s not what I was trying to—” he scowled at the ground, “I know that. But for me, you have to understand,” his eyes were pleading, “the manor doesn’t make up for my father being there. I would rather stay at Hogwarts.” He looked at her for the first time, there was something in his expression she couldn't decipher. 

Hermione could understand that. She would never tell him, but he sounded a lot like Harry.

“Why don’t you stay at Hogwarts? If your mother is gone most of the time anyway?”

“You’re not a very intuitive person, are you?”

“What! How am I supposed to know the answer to that!?”

“Put the pieces together Granger. It’s not that difficult.”

Steam would shoot out of her nose like a dragon if it could. 

But a whispering voice in the back of her mind told her he was just deflecting. Her eyes confirmed, they saw the hunch of his shoulders, the nervous fiddling of his hands, and his downcast expression.

She sighed and said, “Well if you won’t admit anything, I guess I’ll just assume you can’t stay at Hogwarts over break because Professor Snape uses the Slytherin common room to shag Professor Trelawney.” 

And then she walked off. 

But she forgot he was holding on to her hand and ending up towing him with her. He choked on shocked laughter, stumbling over his feet.

“No!” his face painted with shocked amusement, “My father won’t let me, idiot.”

“What did he say when you asked?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Oh, well then—”

“It would just make him angry. It’s useless, trust me,” creases on his forehead appeared as he furrowed his eyebrows, in that moment Hermione thought he looked wise beyond his years. She was reminded of the soldiers in her fathers boring history movies, the scenes where they stared off in the distance like they had been to hell and back.

“Well… I hope you enjoy something over the break. At least you won’t have essays to write or be forced to trek miles in the Forbidden Forest,” she tried weakly. Hermione never was good at comforting people.

“Yeah, I guess there’s that,” he said with a trace of undeniable bitterness. “Come on, we’re going to miss the train.”

He let go of her hand; she was caught off guard, having forgotten he was holding it. Over time it had become such a habit, she only noticed when his cold slender fingers weren’t clasping hers. 

Hermione had four revelations to ponder on the train ride to King’s Cross with her forehead pressed into the window. One, Draco and Lucius Malfoy did not have the ideal father-son relationship they led everyone to believe. Two, Malfoy held her hand because he wanted to. Three, there was a mysterious stone path in the middle of the Forbidden forest that Malfoy had seen in their first year, but somehow she hadn’t been able to.

Oh, and four: Malfoy called her Hermione for the first time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: Seven- Taylor Swift
> 
> This is the first flashback! As of now I have a few more planned, these will probably be the only times I switch POV. Many details and ideas are inspired by the song of this chapter (when I say a lot I mean it). 
> 
> Trigger Warnings at the end of the chapter Queens

Year: 1992

Grade: End of First Year, going into Second Year

Location: Malfoy Manor

Inspired by: Seven, By Taylor Swift

Rusted springs ground and cringed against each other as he pushed off the uneven forest floor again. Although Draco was accustomed to the manors manicured lawn a couple acres away, he did not find the unkept side of nature as revolting as his father did. The looming trees provided much-appreciated cover from the blazing summer sun.

The unpredictability and self-sustainability were rather intriguing to him after seeing potted plants and landscaped flower arrangements all of his life.

There was a sharp creek every time Draco pedaled his feet in the air. He always prided himself on being a fast learner, it only took him a day or two to figure out how to use the contraption the Mudblood called a ‘Swing set’.

Forgive him, if his curiosity had been peaked after listening to her blather on and on about it like an overstimulated toddler.

He had been sitting in his favorite window seat, the one partially covered by a tapestry. He could remain hidden behind the dusty sage cloth and still see who was coming. It made for the perfect hiding spot on days when people (including but not limited to: Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy), were more unbearable than usual.

He was content to spend the entire day there alone, covered up in his green blanket to fight the frost layering the glass, with a silver tin of sugar quills and Cauldron cakes, writing a twelve-inch Potions essay.

He had initially ignored the soft footsteps, chalking it up to the occasional wanderer. His hallway was remote and off the usual paths, there was rarely if ever an invasion of his space.

But then he heard the sound of robes rustling as someone sat down, and then he heard  _ her _ voice start prattling on to the wall portraits.

Draco was glad he arrived at Hogwarts with friends, Merlin smite him where he sat if he had to turn to literal paintings for company.

Then again, he would have always been able to make friends, Hermione Granger was a special case of antisocial.

Before he’d realized she was a Mudblood —and really it should have been obvious but Draco was inexperienced with identifying them— he tried to ask about the giant book she heaved with her while walking down the hall.

Usually, he didn't take interest in his peers unless they were of importance to him (meaning his father told him to associate with him). But she was making a spectacle of herself: out of breath, face red and arms visibly struggling to carry the book.

She ignored him, thrice. He had to grab her robes to get her attention, it was horribly embarrassing and he wouldn’t have asked if he knew she was so deprived of social grace. Then, when she realized he was talking to her — _ yes her, not the knight and shining armor to her right _ — she talked his ear off. He earned himself a ten-minute lecture on the social impact of Werewolves in the middle ages.

And when the Gryffindor finally released him because she had to go to class, she looked up at him for the first time. Her eyes were conflicted, she bit the inside of her cheek before reluctantly handing him the ancient book like she was giving him her most prized possession. It weighed about twenty thousand tons and he had to lean his weight against the wall so she wouldn’t notice him struggling.

“Here,” she said, wide eyes flickering, “you would probably enjoy this more than me since you were so interested in Werewolves. I… I can just wait until you’re done,” she gave the book one more longing glance.

He didn’t even want the book but something made him hesitate and by the time he could verbalize his rejection, she had walked into her class.

It took him a week to read it cover to cover. His arms ached from carrying it to the breakfast table, the library, his window seat, his bed, over and over again. At the end of the week, he swung it like a barrel of hay from it’s resting place next to a plate of half-eaten bacon when he saw her leave the Great Hall. He made to follow the bushy-haired girl when Pansy grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“You weren’t going to follow Granger, were you?” Pansy spluttered like Draco had handed her a Flesh-Eating Slug instead of the strawberry and cream danishes.

Unsettled and suddenly unsure, he snarled, “No,” like he couldn’t believe she would suggest a thing. “Good,” she scowled right back at him before stabbing her mushroom omelet.

A few moments passed, the Gryffindor was walking farther and farther away, he had meant to catch her before class today and didn't want to miss her. Draco had decided wanted to wait until he finished the book before talking to her again, so he would know what to say this time when she started ranting.

Draco fiddled with his wand and tried to look nonchalant, “Out of curiosity,” he started, “what’s wrong with her?”

“What’s wrong with her!” Pansy laughed, it was sharp, Draco’s neck and ears went hot. “What’s wrong with the Mudblood?!”

“Oh.”

He had watched the Gryffindor Mudblood after that, wondering how he had been fooled. She was remarkably adept at antagonizing those around her, highly intelligent but completely oblivious to social cues until it was too late. Even her own house hated her, especially the Weasel. Draco had always thought the enemy of his enemy was his friend. But he kept his distance (as he should) and she never approached him.

She never approached him , even after he read the bloody book cover to cover. And it was no  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard;  _ it had been like reading a dictionary for fun.

So it was no Earth shattering discovery that she was talking to portraits instead of her human housemates, she had no sense of social survival. It was insulting, though, that she would turn to portraits before—

He spent thirty more minutes sitting there. If he got up, it would have revealed his hiding spot/favorite window seat, she might steal it or tell someone about it. Draco couldn’t even use that time to finish his potions essay, their conversation was too loud and irritating.

He peeked out the small gap between the tapestry and the stone wall, she was seated on a bench, clutching another book with a unicorn on its hardcover. The portrait nearest to her, a golden framed painting of a graying man smoking a pipe on a sailboat, looked down at her.

Their conversation shifted from her classes, her books, and then to her friends, the Gryffindor became visibly uncomfortable and shifty, fiddling with the corner of her book.

“Well, how’d you make them at your muggle school?” A renaissance style painting of a woman asked, her three white poodles howling at the end of her question.

“I didn’t make them,” she muttered back, looking at the ground.

“Did you talk to the paintings there too then?” One of the men in a portrait of a gambling den asked, setting down his hand of cards.

“No!” she laughed, he found himself shifting closer to the gap of the tapestry. “Muggle paintings don't talk back!" she chided like that was obvious to a magic painting. "Usually, I read at recess, or I played on the swings.”

“Swings?” The poodle lady asked and Draco reluctantly found himself wondering the same thing.

“A swing set? You don’t have those here?” the paintings shook their heads and asked her to explain.

“A swing is two pieces of rope tied to a bar with a seat tied to it, it hangs off the ground. You sit on it and pedal your feet so you swing back and forth in the air like a pocket watch.

“The one my school had was old and rusty, but the seats were high up so when you swung, it felt like you might fly so fast and wrap around the bar. It was really fun,” she was talking fast again, the way she had when she explained the social impact of werewolves in the middle ages to Draco, “actually it’s kind of like the Muggle version of flying a broom.”

Many months later, when his mother wrote him asking what he wanted for his birthday, he couldn’t resist.

It was a risk, he wasn’t sure she wouldn't tell his father. She didn’t write back and he cursed himself for being so impulsive.

When he stepped off the Hogwarts express, the imposing form of his father made his stomach drop and his shoulders cave. Lucius Malfoy was angry, his white knuckles clenched tightly around his cane, but not for the reason Draco thought.

For the first time ever, he breathed a sigh of relief when his father started in on him, it wasn’t about the Muggle swing set. His all-powerful, all-seeing father didn’t know about his interest in the Gryffindor.

The Malfoy patriarch was in a state of rage, inconsolable even to his wife because Draco had been second in his class to a Mudblood girl.

Draco couldn’t even feel shame as his father screamed at him in his study, he was too relieved.

His mother, used to comforting him after these episodes, masked her surprise when he emerged from the double doors without the usual wet cheeks and swollen eyes. Even if she had a lunch or shopping trip scheduled, she always waited outside for him by the marble bust of his grandfather to make sure he was okay every time.

This time, instead of walking him to his room and giving him a stiff and quick embrace, she led him outside. She didn’t say it, but he knew she was trying to be discreet when they walked through the kitchen exit instead of taking a more convenient way outside.

His confusion multiplied when she pulled him through the house-elves' herb garden, past his Quidditch pitch, around the gazebo, and into the forest.

Every time he would try and ask why she was making him walk through mud and tree branches, she would hush him and look around like his father was looming behind an oak tree.

He was swatting away a far-reaching wild rose bush when he spotted it. The berry red paint was striking even though it was chipping, against the browns and greens of the forest. The swing set looked exactly as he pictured Granger’s.

His mother gave him a timid smile and a small squeeze to his arm before walking back. He was left alone.

His father appointed him several tutors. Each was more boring than the last, his mornings were dull and long.

But his afternoons, he liked those much more.

They were lonely, his father banned him from inviting any friends over for the entire summer until he, “Started utilizing more two of his brain cells”, and “lived up to his family name”. But he loved the swing set. He quartered his time between his lessons, climbing trees, swinging and reading in the kitchen.

Weeks passed like this and his mind began to wander. There were two seats on the swing set, one always empty and collecting dust. One day, it was Hermione Granger next to him, racing him through the air, trying to pedal her feet faster than him (and failing because he was very fast). Nestled amongst the caving oak trees, his father’s ever-present accusing glare failed to reprimand him.

She would tell him against his will (and interest) about the aquatic microorganisms and life forms in the tiny creek to their left.

She would join him for his new favorite drink in the kitchen: sweet tea. He had only ever been allowed to drink traditional English brewing of tea, usually in a porcelain teacup and saucer. But his father was busier than usual this summer, and his control over the occupants of the manor slipped as a result. None of the House-elves would volunteer this information to Lucius Malfoy, and he wouldn’t think to ask.

She would climb the tallest oak trees with him, warning him not to climb too high and then yelling at him to come back down when he did. So he wouldn't hurt himself.

And when he sat huddled in one of the guest room closets, shaking and pointing his wand at the closed door, she would hand him a book that was a “pretty good read”, about how pirates caused the Spanish Armada and —therefore the greatest humiliation of the Spanish navy and— therefore the decline of the empire.

As his father stomped through the hallway a floor above his closet, screaming his name, Draco would understand and appreciate her gift this time. Because for Hermione Granger, a book was a diamond or a ruby. Alternatively, a book was to Hermione Granger what the absence of Lucius Malfoy was to Draco.

Then, she would tell him the shadows in their closet were creepy, arguably even haunting, and that he should go look for his mother when it was safe.

He went so far as to daydream that Hermione Granger would invite him to her house for the rest of the summer. With her muggle family, muggle neighbors, and muggle things. Draco wouldn’t even ask his mother, he would just grab a few things from his room, wrap them in a sweater —no time for a suitcase— and leave with her.

That was the last time his thoughts wandered to Hermione Granger. When he returned to the swing set the next afternoon, his father stood beside it with his silver-tipped cane in both hands. He didn’t even have to draw his wand, the structure lit up in flames as he stared at Draco with a frightening, staged indifference.

The chipping strawberry paint melted, cracked, curled, and blackened before his eyes. He didn’t dare leave until only ashes remained, his father’s challenging stare warned him of the additional consequences of doing so.

When Draco’s bruises and bones healed, he only tried to enter the forest once. He couldn’t even step one foot over an invisible line bordering the oak trees. His father had warded him out.

Once again, Draco was relieved the Malfoy patriarch had only discovered the shallowest of his shortcomings. His failure as a student and therefore a Malfoy shielded his interest in the swing set.

The interest in the swing set now shielded thoughts of bushy hair and social aloofness.

And so Draco, after sacrificing every other shield, hid away those intrusive and meddlesome thoughts behind a dusty sage tapestry in the darkest alcoves of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: allusions to child abuse


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of two updates today :) The next one will be dropping in an hour or two.
> 
> Song of chapter: Last Words of a Shooting Star
> 
> If I could sing well, I would never stop singing this song. I would give a lyric analysis on this song if I had the energy (or audience) for that.

Hermione sat between a street gutter and a cement imprint of a child's hands. She was perched on the sidewalk curb in front of her house with her knees pulled into her chest. Her old leather trunk slouched next to her. Crookshanks sulked in his cage and meowed his grievances.

There was a ticket in her right hand and a letter in the left. She smoothed her thumb over the indents on the broken rust-colored seal. She’d already said goodbye to her parents at breakfast but the kitchen window curtains fluttered and she could see the silhouettes of them watching her.

Ron had written her back a few days later; her worry doubled when Harry’s chicken scratch signature was missing. Harry had locked himself in his room and Ron needed her to come talk some sense into him. 

The screech of the Knight Bus made her ears cringe. She shot up and away from the curb, years earlier Harry had warned her of the conductors rather risque driving. 

The bus jerked back in motion as soon as she stepped through its doors. She gave a strained but polite smile with her eleven sickles and headed to the first seat she saw.   
▲▲▲▲▲▲

As soon as she arrived, Ron yanked her away from all of the warm embraces and greetings to push her up the creaky stairs. He acted like they were a SWAT team on their way to diffuse a hostage situation. Every time a floorboard groaned underneath their racing footsteps or she slowed down, he would toss her an exasperated look over his shoulder. 

When they arrived at Harry’s door, she turned to Ron for guidance only to see he had vanished. 

She tried a trick she'd picked up from Ginny, "A hot fudge sundae with cherries, sprinkles, whipped cream, candied nuts, chocolate sauce, and ice cream bars? Well if no one else wants it..." she trailed off.

No response. Someone had used it one too many times to trap the redhead and he picked up on its intention.

She knocked a series of short rasps, the house was completely silent –everyone was listening downstairs in the kitchen. 

She cleared her throat, “Harry, it’s Hermione,” The door opened on its own. Hermione quickly closed it behind her.

The striped covers of his bed were pulled up just above his shoulders. He was turned towards the wall; his messy black hair was matted in the back from sleeping. The peeling black and grey wallpaper coupled with the covered windows created a cave-like ambiance. 

If he hadn’t used magic to open the door for her, she would have assumed he was asleep. He was as still as a statue.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from him and towards the draped windows.

“Hi, Harry,” she tried.

“Hi, Hermione,” he responded, the blanket muffled his whispered response.

As blunt as Ron, she cut straight to the point, “So are you going to get out of bed?”

“No.”

“Well, you can’t stay in bed for the rest of your life.” It’s what her mother told her the day after Hermione invited her neighbor—the first boy she’d ever had a crush on— for ice cream, only for him to tell her she was “...bleeding. Like a lot. Seriously, did you sit on something?”.

“I can, and I will. I’m not coming back to school,” his words were still muffled by his blanket. 

“And why not?” she huffed.

Silence. A clock in a different room ticked. Someone dropped a dish in the kitchen, various people took turns scolding who she assumed to be the guilty party before someone loudly shushed them all. 

Hermione sighed, her hand traveled across the bed to his shoulder. A cold and hesitant hand covered hers.

“I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry. I know. I am too,” she says. And, knowing that it was no consolation, she added, “I’ll always protect you.”

She was as young as him and sometimes she was even more unsure and incapable than him. But when she said she will always protect him, she meant it. Against one of the most fearsome monsters to ever walk the Earth, she knew her loyalty was little to compensate. It was little to offer him, barely a speck of dust in a universe, but it was the greatest treasure she could share.

“I don’t think you can protect me from him. He’s in my head, it’s like he’s infecting me,” and then, quieter, he muttered, “I think I am too far gone.”

Ron had told her that Harry had a vision of a snake attacking Mr.Weasley. And while it saved the Weasley’s from a devastating loss, the disturbing fact remained that Harry had a mental connection to Voldemort. 

“I was Voldemort, Hermione. And it felt...” she imagined if she could see his face, his eyebrows would be drawn together, “it felt good. And I hate myself for it. I’m not safe to be around anymore. I don’t think I should return to Hogwarts with you and Ron.”

“That’s ridiculous, you’re coming back with us. It’s not your fault.”

“Hermione, I wanted to attack...” he spit the words out like chunks of a rotten apple, “Dumbledore when I told him about the dream. Voldemort, he’s infiltrating my mind.”

“As I said, it isn’t your fault. You can't control it. It won't do any good for you to run off on your own"

He’s silent again, clearly not agreeing.

“Hey!” she shoved his shoulder with her free hand, trying to roll him over so he would finally look at her. He twisted away and groaned in annoyance, swatting her hands away.

“Harry, you’re not leaving us. You’re an idiot,” she said. Sometimes bullying is the only way to break through his thick skull. “And you’re a coward, doing exactly what he wants you to, running and hiding instead of staying with the people who love you. A martyr complex never looks good on anyone.” 

A single sliver of fading sunlight had managed to sneak through his covered windows. It covered his folded glasses on the bedside table like a sliver of golden cloth.

She yanked the pillow out from under his head, “Now. Get. Out. Of. Bed”, she says through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with a slap of the pillow. 

“Leave me alone, Hermione! You don’t understand what this is like for me!” he shouts. And truthfully, nobody could understand. But he didn’t understand what it was like to be a muggleborn at Hogwarts and yet he still tried to support her to the best of his ability.

“I’m not leaving until you get out of bed.”

He rolled over onto his stomach, keeping his head turned towards the wall. 

“Fine,” she got up and walked towards the door. She heard a slight rustle of blankets and knew he had rolled over to watch her walk out. 

Suddenly, she pivoted and let out a vicious war cry, sprinting towards his bed and cannonballing on top of him like a starfish. He yelled at her and violently twisted, trying to shake off her weight but trapped under his mountain of blankets, unable to free his arms.

They both paused when the door creaked open, Ron stood in the doorway. Harry's pleas for assistance transformed into shouts for mercy when Ron charged at them like a bull. 

His weight knocked the breath of Hermione; she couldn’t imagine how Harry felt under both of them. He pitifully tried to push them off, shoving at their faces while they choked on laughter. 

At some point, the jerky movements of Ron's limbs quieted and he embraced both of them. Although unsure of what sparked the sudden cease-fire, she and Harry relented into his hug. It filled her chest with liquid gold, bubbling and foaming into something uncontainable, something she could express only through sharing it with others.

Only when it was time for her to go settle into her room before dinner did she notice. Dried tear tracks ran down Harry's face. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Ron dutifully looked away from his face but kept his arm slung around his shoulder.

Later that evening, Harry walked down the stairs for dinner. Cleopatra rising from the dead and knocking on the door for a cup of sugar would have garnered the same reaction. 

Dramatic exclamations ensued of a resurrected soul asking for Fred Weasley to pass the dinner rolls, and for Sirius to hand him the Pumpkin juice. No one mentioned Harry's trembling smile or his shining eyes. 

▲▲▲▲▲▲

It was thirty minutes past their usual meeting time. Hermione was awkwardly propped up against a wall in the Great Hall, a Little Red Riding Hood looking basket in one hand. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, but the cluster of Ravenclaw girls kept looking over at her.

She stood there hovering like a mouth breathing giant, passing students sent her skeptical side glances. Everyone knew this was where she met Malfoy to go into the Forbidden forest, and so everyone knew she was stood up by him. He was ditching her at the risk of losing his Prefect badge. It practically spelled out that she was unbearable to work with. 

Long forgotten, were the minutes spent listening through split earphones to soulful screeches of guitar and the booming thud of drums. In these moments, she could only remember the cruel curl of his lips as he hurled insults at her like river rocks. 

Ten more minutes passed before she reached her limit of judgemental eyes. She left without him, marching through the halls with the importance and urgency of a seasoned war general.

It was only when she was spouting curse words in her head and viciously ripping Cowbane from the Earth that she remembered he hadn’t been in class today. Hermione had to rub the green stain of their leaves off of her forehead after she smacked her palm on it. 

She had worked out a system that had almost a 100% success rate for successfully sneaking a glance at him during classes without being caught. One glance while everyone was still sitting down, another spent when the Professor asked for volunteers, and a third used when class was more than half-way over and everyone was dozing off. 

Sometimes his head was resting on his fist and she could only see a pale golden halo of hair. Other times his face was animated in conversation with whoever he was sitting with, making snide comments about the class. She found the latter rude and disrespectful to their Professors.

Her favorite moments —though they nearly put her into cardiac arrest— happened when she turned to see his murky silver eyes already on her. 

But today, his desk had been filled by another. His light hair failed to catch her wandering eye at breakfast and lunch. When she walked by the window his friends always lounged under between classes, she hadn't heard his sarcastic drawl. 

Her anger abated, a feeling akin to disappointment surfaced and she nearly dropped her basket in shock.

The forest was dark, the curled and winding branches of the trees looked like a storybook witches' crooked fingers. She hadn’t noticed the sun go down when she was focused on uprooting white blossoms of Cowbane and purple blooms of Fluxweed. The sudden shift in awareness to her surroundings made the hair on her arms stand up. 

The gentle thump of her protective amulet against her chest as she walked did little to squash her anxiety. The sky was sapphire sprinkled with flimsy petals of hydrangeas; the stars had yet to take their place but the sun had fully retired. 

She had never been out this late in the forest to forage before. It had taken her much longer than usual to gather the ingredients since she lost her partner, and because she had a late start.

The wind rustled bare tree branches, her boots cut through the snow in a steady, fast rhythm. Although she knew her amulet guaranteed that she would never be at the mercy of another creature in the forest, her cold hands trembled around the handle of her overflowing basket. Her pace increased every time tall grasses of a bush shifted or a shadow in her peripheral vision moved.

A dim glow to her left flagged her attention. For a second, she swore the stars fell from the sky and down to her knees. The heliotropes she and Malfoy had found before winter break were shining like lightbulbs. 

She made her way over, no longer skeptical of dark shadows and tall bushes. The base of each purple blossom contained a white glow. The stone path was illuminated by their beacon of light. She extinguished her light and followed the flower trail back to Hogwarts. 

▲▲▲▲▲▲

The homely warmth of the infirmary warmed the chill in her hands as she ground the Fluxweed with Madam Pomfrey's mortar. The office was empty and the healer was nowhere to be found, so Hermione went ahead and prepared the plants for use. 

Unlike Muggle hospitals that reeked of chemical cleaners, the Hogwarts infirmary smelled like peppermint candies. Even in the warmer months, Madam Pomfrey insisted on the seasonal fragrance to counteract all of the less desirable scents birthed from ill students. 

She turned to grab one of the empty glass jars on the shelf when a glimpse of Malfoy standing in the doorway caused her to jump. Her hand pressed against her racing heart and she opened her mouth to admonish him for startling her and for ditching her but something in his face stopped her. 

“What the fuck, Granger?” he said with furrowed eyebrows. He paced towards her and she resisted the urge to step back. His face was flushed, not in the way it pinkened when he caught her staring at him. He looked feverish, his eyes were sunken in and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

She bristled and laced her fingers in front of her, “Excuse me?” He was only a foot or two away from her now, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“Did you go out alone?”

A glance to her left reminded her of how empty and isolated they were. Every bed was empty, each blanket folded precisely and every bedside table bare of personal belongings.

She squared her shoulders and glared at him, not appreciating his tone. But it still came out as a question, “Yes?”

His eye's narrowed, “Oh, I didn’t know you were trained in the martial arts”. There was a glazed, slightly disoriented look in his eyes that made her wary.

“What?”

“An expert in the dark arts then?” She rolled her eyes, understanding where he was going with this.

“No.”

“So you’re just an idiot then. Marching through the Forbidden Forest alone like it’s a petting zoo.” His tone was biting. Hermione hoped he knew that if he didn’t look like he might fall over at any moment, she would be more than willing to show him how fast she could become an “expert in the dark arts”.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like you ran a marathon without any training,” she hesitantly inched closer, crossing an invisible threshold between them. He stepped back from her, suddenly wary.

“You shouldn’t have gone out alone. I’ll be expelled if you go missing,” he sneered, his eyes darting around her face like a cornered animal accessing a predator. 

She turned back to where she had been grinding Fluxweed into powder and started shoveling it into the glass jar, miming an unruffled state. “You didn’t show up. I didn’t want you— I didn’t want us to get in trouble for ditching it so I went alone.”

He was silent for a moment, she looked up to see his features riddled with confusion. “I told Theo to tell you I was sick,” he tried. 

She shook her head, he rubbed the edge of his palm into his brow. “Oh. I'm sorry, for storming in like that.” He made a sound like he was going to say something else before he cut himself off. 

A few minutes passed with her grinding plants into powder and packaging them into jars. He stood watching her. “What would you have done if you saw a Werewolf? What if you got crushed in a stampede of Centaurs?” his tone had lost its original seething fire but the embers of some other strong emotion still burned.

Wordlessly, she pulled the amulet out from under her shirt and held it up for him to see. He fell silent again and she looked up from her work. 

It was uncharacteristic for him to be so forgetful and slow. He was shuffling his feet when she put down the stone pestle and reached to put the back of her hand on his forehead. He jumped away like a frightened deer. Stubbornly, she grabbed his arm to steady herself and yank him closer. 

The navy blue wool of his jumper was soft under her fingers, his eyes were a murky puddle of blue and grey. The skin on his forehead was sunbaked and burning, slowly she pulled her hand away.

“What are you sick with?” her whisper floated in the air between them. His eyes were glassy, the same way her mothers were when she caught a nasty case of the flu last year. 

“It’s nothing contagious if that’s what you're wondering. Just brought on by exhaustion, I’ll be fine in a day or two,” he muttered, eyes flickering across her face. Warmth spread across her back and through her jacket, his hand had curled around the curve of her ribs. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“You didn’t get any sleep at home?” her hand was clutching at the material on his shoulder.

He hesitated, then nodded, “I never sleep well there.” His head dipped down and his thumb started rubbing circles on the small of her back. He was swaying a bit, taking her with him, a strange, almost delirious expression on his face.

The heat radiating off of him showered her in warmth, it made her want to step closer. She could smell faint notes of green apple and mint fighting against the overpowering peppermint scent of the infirmary. 

“How come you came to the infirmary?” she asked even though the answer was obvious. He didn’t seem to mind as he answered, “To get a healing potion”.

The quick march of footsteps outside the hallway startled Hermione out of his trance. She hastily took a few steps back, he made to follow her but Madam Pomfrey burst through the doors. She scowled at Malfoy before noticing Hermione. She thanked her profusely for her work and then ushered her away so she didn’t miss dinner.

Madam Pomfrey began to lecture Malfoy about loitering in her infirmary like a vagrant. She felt his eyes on her as she walked away and when she spared a parting glance, his grey eyes seared into her flushed face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally uploaded on fanfic.net and someones review was really funny to me. They were saying that Draco was a jerk, Theo was childish, and so Harry was the only fit for her since he got her such a romantic birthday gift. They commented that on chapter 6 so I hope they got on board with our main ship because it ain't going the way they wanted it to LMAO. 
> 
> Thank you all for commenting and interacting with my story. It means a lot to me and I love reading what you think :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song of Chapter: bitter sweetness- Insignificant Other
> 
> I love their album so much. If you have time, consider checking out, 'I'm so glad i feel this way about you".

The next day between History of Magic and Potions, she told her friends to go on without her. She yanked Malfoy away from his crowd of friends and near a wall away from the crowd of students rushing to classes. 

Hermione explained that she told Professor McGonagall of his horrible condition and she decided to let them have a week off. 

He was not pleased that she went behind his back and conspired against him. His flair for the dramatics caught the attention of passing students.

“I don’t have to be Hercules to pluck Daffodil’s, now do I?” he hummed rhetorically. “You’ll revoke your request, thank you.”

“I think I’m alright,” she nodded at him like she had contemplated his “request”. 

“I’m completely fine,” Malfoy snapped. But his eyes were drooping, and he inched closer to the wall so he could lean against it. 

“Your obviously not,” an incredulous laugh barked out of her throat.

He didn’t seem bothered by her mocking tone or the whispers of their peers. He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, his golden hair glided away from his upturned face. “I’d prefer if we don’t skip a week. Hopefully, your Rhadamanthine ethics will allow it,” he said in a clipped tone. Once again, she was reminded that he was not used to asking for anything. 

“Unfortunately... it won’t. You could try talking to Professor McGonagall yourself though. I have to warn you, though, you’re walking evidence for my case,” she gestured to his feverish flush with a lazy hand.

He sighed dramatically through his nose and glared at her from half-lidded silver eyes. Quick as the strike of lightning, a cunning look flashed across his face. Spending her days surrounded by friendly and expressive Gryffindors, she was unnerved by his wolfish grin. 

He stepped away from the wall and inched closer to her. Her hand loosely fiddling with the shoulder strap of her bag clutched it. His hand shot up and grabbed one of her curls, twirling it between his fingers. The back of his hand softly skimmed the knuckles of her own, she could see his silver ring in her peripheral vision as a grey speck. 

His head leaned closer to her conspiratorially, “You could fix this undesirable vacation you’ve afforded me, and then we can go see about that stone path you were practically salivating over last time.” 

Hermione liked to think she had more self-discipline and restraint to not succumb to his manipulations, but she found her head lifting to nod in agreement. Flustered, she quickly shook her head, stumbled back with the grace of a newborn cow, and straightened the strap of her bag. His hand was frozen in the air where it had been fiddling with her hair, a wicked smirk grew on his face. 

She broke away from the tense bubble his overwhelming charisma sucked her into. “Talk to Professor McGonagall yourself," she said walking backward with a raised eyebrow before spinning around and heading to class. 

Later, when Ginny so graciously brought it up at the dinner table, Hermione brushed it off. It wasn’t hard to convince them that the rumor was mindless gossip, that Draco Malfoy would ever flirt with her. 

▲▲▲▲▲▲

Year: 1992  
Grade: Second Year  
Location: Infirmary 

There are two tales necessary to explain the careful brewing of contempt between Draco Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey. This is the first. 

The hallways were too dark and cavernous to feel comfortable sneaking about. The torches were unlit, the framed portraits snored and slumbered, the night air filtering through the halls was clear and crisp.

Draco Malfoy crept along stone walls covered in tapestries and shadows. He ducked behind suits of armor and statues of Greek Gods. It was so quiet that he could hear his slippered footsteps scuffing along the cold stone brick floor. 

The large overarching windows presented paintings of stars and a moon, it was beautiful but he didn’t glance at the night sky for more than a second. He was on a mission.

He heard a commotion near the infirmary doors and pressed against the wall. His hands were trembling. His muscles, wound taut and locked in place. 

When the noise subsided, he slipped away from the wall but the neck of his jumper yanked him back. He freed it from the protruding stone brick before creeping through the large gaping doors of the Infirmary.

Like a thief in the night, he crept along the row of cots, some filled with sleeping and petrified students, most were empty. The light in Madam Pomfrey's office was out. He thanked whatever higher power existed that Goyle had finally got something right. 

Like a ship beckoned to a lighthouse's glow, he found Hermione Granger with moonlight shining in her hair and pouring down the contours of her face. 

They placed her on the cot right beneath the window, a fool's mistake. Anyone would know she preferred dark, warm corners to the outdoors. She practically lived in the library.

He had been slow and stealthy the entire course from the Slytherin dorm to the infirmary, careful to control the swish of his pajamas. But as soon as he saw her, he charged over to her petrified form as if Voldemort himself was chasing his heels, ready to snatch him back. 

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the frozen state of her features made an uncomfortable feeling settle deep within his bones. His heart rattled and his blood trembled, he wasn’t shaking but he felt like his entire body was moving and racing. 

Draco didn’t plan for what he would do once he saw her, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. In the three days she had been frozen, his hearing had been obstructed by her siren song, calling him to come and find her. He thought it would have quieted now that he’d seen her, the irresistible call manipulating his rationality. 

But it persisted. He was not satisfied. And it was louder than before, if anything, now that he knew what her petrified state looked like.

The sympathetic furrow of her eyebrows was gone, the curious flash of her wide brown eyes absent. Her resident pink flush dissolved, the honey hue to her skin washed away. Even her wild curls seem to have lost their spirit. 

There was a quiver to his breathing like someone punched him in the stomach. He left and went back to his room.

▲▲▲▲▲▲

Like a Greek tragedy with its inevitable, tragic end, he couldn’t resist returning the next night. His thoughts were plagued with images of colorless lips and dull eyes. He could hardly focus on anything else.

Gradually, he began to spend longer and longer standing there and staring at her. It was a week before he spoke to her. 

“I read the book about Werewolves. It was incredibly dull. I don’t know why you read things like that, but I think it’s because you want to sound smarter than everyone. It’s too bad that you’re…” he stuttered, “the way you are, right now. Because I know just as much as you now. Could probably overwhelm you with my knowledge...”

She remained petrified. He felt stupid for talking to a frozen girl, one who didn’t even like him. One who probably hated him, actually. But it broke the tense atmosphere he and the silent infirmary had fostered His shoulders sagged, the ropes and wires of his body uncoiled.

He carefully lifted the wooden chair beside her bed and nudged it closer before sitting down and settling in. 

“Your friends have gotten increasingly annoying and out of control, now that you’re...occupied,” he said, glancing at her out of the side of his eye. There was no response. 

“I think they’re on edge because they miss you. So, if that makes you feel any better about being a vegetable right now,” he offered.

“Back to the Werewolf book though,” he sidetracked, “What did you think about the part that said that long ago, people wanted to be bitten by a Werewolf because it increased their abilities to hunt and provide for their families. Especially women,” someone stirred in their sleep a few cots over.

He lowered his voice, “I couldn’t believe it! I bet you were surprised too. I also thought the part about—”, he rambled on. Discussing various aspects of the book he liked and disliked.

Before he knew it, the moon's glow in her hair was replaced with the sun's golden caress. He left with a hasty, “Goodbye”, patting the sheets by her leg like he was patting a friend on the back. 

▲▲▲▲▲▲

Draco came back every night. He told her about the classes she was missing, funny things his friends said, or things that annoyed him that day. He told her about the books he was reading, bragging that he was going to know more than her if she didn’t wake up soon. 

He even told her about the swingset, his mother, and his father. 

Violet pastel half-circles formed under his eyes, his head sunk onto his hand in classes —a poor excuse for a pillow. Yet still, he could not resist going back. 

The reading began on a rainy day. He was in the library, trying to do his Potions essay but his head was full of cotton and warm water. Draco couldn’t focus. The dulled hum of Pansy and Theo talking clouded his ears. 

As if he was in a trance, he got up from the wooden table and headed for his favorite sections. He pulled a variety of titles from the shelf, some he recognized and some he didn’t. The spines were threaded in gold, shapes of stars and planets glinted on their hardcovers. 

“Woah, is there a test in astronomy or something?” Theo asked, leaning back in his chair so that the front two legs were off of the ground. 

“Something like that,” Draco replied. 

He lugged a new book with him to her bedside every night. He read them out loud until his throat ached and his eyes drooped. He read her page upon page of Greek myths, origins of constellations, astrology, and astronomy. 

If there ever was a book to make her curious enough to wake up, he was sure it would be A Wanderers Guide to the Sky. He found a constellation with her name, though frustratingly enough the last pages of the chapter were ripped out. When he read the chapter title aloud, "Hermione", he gasped dramatically like he hadn't skimmed its table of contents before checking it out of the library.

His stomach sunk when he looked at her frozen face, unphased and unchanged, her arm still frozen in the air like it was reaching for something. He read the entire book to her that night.

He awoke to sunbeams kissing his face and a bony hand shaking his shoulder. He was assaulted by the smell of dusty parchment, peppermint-scented bedsheets, and warm vanilla. 

His face crushed into the open pages of his book that rested open beside Hermione Granger’s thigh. 

He started and shot back in his chair. Madam Pomfrey glared at him. Her mouth was pinched and the lines of her aged face hardened. 

Once he mustered his bearings and blinked a few times, he glared back at her.

“What is the meaning of this Mr.Malfoy,” she snapped, a hand on her hip.

He had no clue what the meaning of this was.

“The standard of care in this infirmary is abysmal,” the last was a word he had read describing the care of Werewolves in modern society. He had mentally bookmarked it for later use in conversation. He hoped he said it in a way that was not like when someone swore for the first time: clearly misused and out of place. 

Madam Pomfrey huffed, the irritation in her eyes inflamed, “Excuse me?”

“If I am injured or sick, am I expected to suffer under these conditions? This operation —and I hesitate to even call it that— is practically a war crime. Towels and hay for beds, little to no supervision of patients.” He didn’t really have a problem with the infirmary, but the way he usually weaseled out of situations like this was by complaining and then flaunting his status.

Her eyes flashed in warning, “Care less about the state of my infirmary and more about what will happen when I tell your head of house that you were out of bed the entire night and sleeping here next to Ms.Granger!” 

If she was surprised at the situation, she didn't show it. There wasn't an ounce of bewilderment directing her facial features. 

It was his own fault, he had been terribly stupid and idealistic last year, before he realized the full scope of his father's hate via his incineration of a muggle swingset. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey was closely associated with Professor McGonagall, who had filled her in on their meeting. "Their meeting", also known as the most difficult stop to erase on his paper tail to Hermione Granger.

“I wasn’t here all night, why would you think that?” He sneered back at the older woman.

“You fell asleep on a book!” she huffed, “You were here all night, Mr.Malfoy.”

“No, I was waiting here while you mosied on around, taking your time. It’s not my fault you took forever and it’s early in the morning,” he lifted his nose in the air. 

“Oh really? That’s what you were doing,” she said and Draco didn’t like the glint in her eye. It was too Slytherin.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly hesitant.

“Why are you in your pajamas then,” she sneered which, might he add, looked ridiculous on her frail face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was illegal to wear pajamas in the morning," he taunted, though it didn't have the same bravo as before. She thought she found the upper hand and he didn't know why.

“Fine. I suppose you were just catching up on some light reading and liked the sunlight by Ms.Granger’s cot?” She had the same cunning tone his father employed when he wanted to catch Draco in a lie.

“Exactly, you and I are on the same wavelength.” Madam Pomfrey’s left eye twitched.

“What I’m puzzled by, Mr.Malfoy, is why are you holding Ms. Granger's hand?” 

Draco looked down at his hand, “What the fuck!” He jumped up, knocking back his chair and possibly waking up everyone in the room. 

Hermione Granger’s hand had, indeed, been encased by his own. The blood in his right arm was prickly from the awkward way it had been bent all night. 

“Language, Mr.Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey said with a smug undertone to her voice. 

“My apologies, I assumed a seasoned nurse who dealt with blood and gore could hand a simple ‘fuck’. I’ll try to hold myself back in the future,” he said solemnly. 

“That’s it. Come with me, I'm taking you to your head of house. See how Professor Snape will find this predicament I stumbled upon." She made to grab for the back of his shirt and haul him down to Snape's office. 

He leaped back, “No! Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. You admitted yourself.”

“You…” she nearly growled, lost for words with her fist-shaking. She turned, stomping into her office and slamming the door. 

That night, when he tried to sneak back in, the light to her office was on. Its dim glow floated past the open doors and into the hallway. A white-gold ward, meant to expel blonde boys who carried books on horoscopes for 1992, with the pages concerning Virgo's and Gemini's bookmarked (not dog-eared). 

And thus, the animosity between Draco Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey was born. 

▲▲▲▲▲▲

“Draco, look, the Mudbloods woke up,” Pansy nudged him. He had been trying to tune her out all of dinner, tired of hearing her slurp mushroom risotto. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, “Do you think I care,” he said. But his eyes wandered to the Great Hall doorway. 

The twitch of his lips was too overpowering, he tilted his head down to hide his face. 

She ran down the length of the Gryffindor table to hug Potter and Weasley.

He felt his face slacken and a somber wave washed over him, so strong, that he had to leave the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note you didn't ask for:
> 
> I love the flashbacks so much. I should just write one shots but alas, I must finish what I started. I feel like Draco's personality is so much easier to write for some reason? To be honest I've been kind of apprehensive of writing this story lately, I'm kind of cringed out by my earlier writing and certain choices I made. I wish I waited later to publish, so that I could go back and edit, but I've got to accept I was just trying some stuff out and I can move on from them. 
> 
> Also, there's no way I could have waited to post, I know myself.
> 
> Thank ya'll for interacting :)


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